More Than Memory
by chocolatequeen
Summary: Separated by tragedy, Aragorn and Arwen must learn important lessons about love and eternity before they can be reunited.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: ****Darkness ****Falls**

The sun shone on the glades and meadows surrounding Imladris as it had not done in many years. Arwen tilted her head back to drink it in, still amazed at the warmth it gave, despite that it was but April. It was as if Arda itself rejoiced in the destruction of the One Ring and had sent Spring early in celebration.

Even Arda's joy could not compete with Arwen's however. When she had learned of their victory over the Shadow, she knew she was finally free of the pressing fear that had held her captive for many years. She had laughed through her tears--a pure, unadulterated sound of happiness that none save her father could ever remember hearing.

Elrond was true to his word; plans were immediately set underway for their journey to Minas Tirith. They would leave in little more than a week, and Arwen had begged for this one last ride through the places she loved dearly.

She shifted slightly in her saddle, glancing around the valley she knew so well. She knew she should feel some sadness at leaving her home and her family to start a new life, but she had been preparing herself for this separation for forty long years; years in which she had nothing to cling to but a hope and a promise that this day would ever come. There would be tears when she said goodbye to her father, but that knowledge did not diminish the joy she felt when she looked forward to her reunion with Aragorn.

So caught up was she in her own thoughts that she almost missed it--the sudden quiet in the forest that meant something was wrong. She felt the tension in her companions and shifted the leather reins to her left hand so her right was free to reach for her bow. She was not sure what was wrong, but then the wind shifted direction, and she caught a foul odor that made her nose crinkle in disgust. "Yrch," Lindir murmured and, they turned their horses swiftly toward home.

Though she knew the danger was real, in truth Arwen felt little concern. Their horses should be able to easily outrun the Orcs, and none of the foul beasts would dare enter the borders of Rivendell. Even during the Dark Years, that valley had been a haven against evil, and now with their Lord and Master defeated finally they would not dare to assail the Elf-lands.

But instead of falling behind, these Orcs kept pace with them. Though it was true that Orcs would not usually be able to catch an Elf on horseback, something seemed to be driving these to run faster than any she had seen before. In little time, a band of thirty or forty Orcs was running alongside them.

Trusting her horse to keep galloping toward home and safety, Arwen dropped the reins entirely in favor of her bow. She notched an arrow and took careful aim before letting it fly. She only let herself feel a glimmer of satisfaction when he fell before she shot another, and another.

Though she was skilled with the bow and a sword, Arwen had not seen many battles. She did not realize that as she shot and killed Orc after Orc on her left side, she left her right side open. On most days, the Elf riding on that side would keep her protected; today however Beriothien had been separated from her as they rode through the trees.

Arwen knew none of this until she felt a sharp sting and glanced down in surprise to find an arrow piercing her side. She pulled it out quickly, heedless of the pain, knowing only that she could not stop. She notched another arrow and pulled back on the bowstring, only to double over in the saddle from the strain it put on her fresh wound. Her horse faltered, unsure what his mistress unfamiliar movements meant.

This was the opportunity the Orcs had been waiting for. Ten of them swarmed around her and pulled her from her horse. Before they could do more, she pulled her sword from her belt. You will not take me, she told them, for she knew better than most what would happen if they did. Unbidden, the image of her mothers body as it had been after her brothers found it came to mind, and her hand tightened around the hilt of her blade.

The Orcs laughed; a coarse guttural sound. _They dare to mock me?_ Arwen's anger surged and she spat out a curse. "_Nai Ungoliant meditha le._" Then she lunged, striking at the Orc on her immediate left. Though he easily parried the blow, their laughter stopped.

In an ideal situation, she should have been able to defend herself indefinitely. She had been well trained by Glorfindel and Erestor both, not to mention her brothers. She knew how to handle a blade with an ease and elegance that would put most men to shame. However, this was not an ideal situation. The weight of the blade in her right hand pulled painfully at the wound in that same side, forcing her to fight with her weaker left arm. As the skirmish wore on, she felt herself tiring. _I cannot keep this up much longer,_ she realized. _Each blow is harder to block._

Barely had the thought crossed her mind when an orcish blade glanced off her thigh. Though it was not a serious hit, it threw her off balance and opened her right side to attack. Another Orc struck her, and she fell to the ground. She struggled valiantly to rise to her feet, but she was knocked down as soon as she rose. She gasped as the pain in her side intensified and was joined by new wounds in her leg and stomach.

With an effort, she raised her sword above her head and brought it down the fighting arm of the Orc nearest her. The hit was good, but it took all her strength. Though she saw a sword flash on her left side, she could not move in time to dodge or block it.

The blade sliced through her stomach, and she fell to the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream. The Orcs laughed once again, this time in victory. She could hear her companions fighting to get to her, but she knew they would not reach her in time to help. This was her fight, and she had lost.

* * *

Aragorn sat up in bed, his breaths coming hard and fast. For a moment he did not recognize his whereabouts, so vivid had his dream been. He had felt the warm sun, smelt the clean air of sweeping off the Misty Mountains. He had been there with her there with her when it happened.

He looked wildly around the tent, his frantic mind unable to focus on anything but the image of Arwen lying near death. After several long moments he felt the scratchy wool blanket under his fingers and realized he was in his tent at the Field of Cormallen,. He tried to concentrate on that reality and not what he had seen in his dreams, but he could not. He passed a shaking hand across his face, reliving it once again in his mind.

She had fought well. Though he had been concerned for her well-being, he had felt a sense of pride at first. Few of his men could have ridden and shot a bow as well as she could. But he had seen the danger when she had not, and though he had tried to shout to warn her of her vulnerability, he had found himself a prisoner of his dream, unable to do anything but watch.

The first shot to her side had made him wince, though he had been proud once more when she pulled the arrow out and rode on as if nothing had happened. But he had watched, horror-struck, when her horse slowed and allowed the Orcs to pull Arwen from her saddle. He had looked around the field in vain, wondering why the others did not better defend her, but saw quickly that there were none to come to her aid. Lindir and Beriothien were both too far from Arwen to realize that she was in danger, though they looked up when she shouted her curse at the Orcs.

Her challenge would have brought a smile to his lips had his stomach not been cramping with dread. He knew better than any man alive how much a true battle differed from training exercises; did he not bear scars that had come in his own first skirmish? He willed her two companions to move quicker, but they too were hard-pressed on every side.

The rest had happened so quickly that nothing could prevent the inevitable, as is so frequently the case in the middle of a battle. She had gone from proudly defiant to on the ground in agony in the span of minutes. No one could have reached her in time to save her.

He lay back against his pillows and took a deep breath. It was a dream; it had to have been a dream. The final image of Arwen being sliced open by an orcish blade could not have been real. If he told himself that enough he could almost believe it, and yet he felt a grim sense of foreboding that kept sleep from returning that night.

_Nai__ Ungoliant meditha l: May the Ungoliant devour you._


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimers and notes at the bottom.

**Chapter One: Darkness Has Come **

_Then Aragorn laid his hand gently to the sapling, and lo! It seemed to hold only lightly to the earth, and it was removed without hurt; and Aragorn bore it back to the Citadel. Then the withered tree was uprooted, but with reverence; and they did not burn it, but laid it to rest in the silence of Rath Dínen. And Aragorn planted the new tree in the court by the fountain, and swiftly and gladly it began to grow…_

_~The Return of the King, pgs 950-51_

The White Tower gleamed in the sunlight, and high within it Aragorn paced the confines of the royal study restlessly; try as he might he could not shake the images he had seen in his dreams the month before. Even planting the White Tree in the Courtyard of the Fountain had not given him peace. He knew that to the people of Minas Tirith it was the final sign they needed that the King had returned and all would be well, but he however held to a deeper, more personal promise, and he longed for a sign that it would be fulfilled. Until the single flower the Tree now bore was joined by others, he could not rest easy.

"The crown suits you, Estel."

Aragorn wheeled at the voice. "My lord Elrond, I did not expect you so soon!" His lips curled into a genuine smile which faded when he noticed the Elf was alone. Disappointment and impatience lanced through him; had they not waited long enough? "Have you come ahead of the rest of the party?"

Emotion flickered on Elrond's face and he realized the truth. The images he had seen of her bloodied by an orcish blade had not simply been a product of his deepest fears, they had been a premonition. Elrond confirmed the knowledge with a somber pronouncement: "I have come alone because there is no one to follow me."

Though he had known what his foster father would say, the words still hit hard. He grasped the window sill tightly, unsure if he could remain upright. "Arwen…"

Elrond mistook his broken cry for a question. "Arwen is gone."

Aragorn clenched his fists tightly, and then asked the question he already knew the answer to. "What happened?"

"She was riding just beyond the boundaries of Imladris when they were attacked by Orcs. Though they fought well and managed to return to Rivendell, she was… badly injured."

Elrond's slight pause before that carefully worded statement brought back Aragorn's own memories of the attack. His eyes slid shut and he saw again the Orc raising his sword for the final blow. "She is dead then," he said, his voice hollow.

"I cannot say." The uncertainty in that statement confused Aragorn, and he opened his eyes to gaze at his father in question.

Elrond sighed. "Perhaps we should sit down, Estel. Then I will tell you the full story."

"Of course. Have a seat, my lord." Aragorn gestured to a chair and then sat in the other himself.

Elrond sat down slowly, and for the first time Aragorn noticed the weary lines on his face. "Thank you, Estel."

"You are welcome, my lord." A desire to understand what had happened to Arwen warred with curiosity and easily won. He leaned forward, the wooden chair creaking with the movement. "Why do you not know if Arwen lives yet?"

He told himself not to hope, that the answer might be any number of things. "Because I sent her to Mithlond to sail for Valinor." Aragorn rested his head in his hands; of all the possible explanations, he had not anticipated this one. "I tried to heal her. I spent many hours laboring over her injuries, but despite my best efforts she fell so deep into unconsciousness that I could no longer sense her fëa."

Aragorn had spent many hours in the healing rooms of Imladris, both as a patient and as a student of the healing arts. The image of Arwen lying in the sun drenched room filled with the musty odor of herbs made him flinch, and he saw compassion on Elrond's face.

That was when he realized the full import of what he had just heard. "You sent her to the Undying Lands in hope she would be healed of her wounds."

"As her father, it was the only thing I could do. I could not allow my child to die when there remained even the slightest of possibilities that she could be saved." Elrond paused, and Aragorn knew there was more to come. "There is but one thing that disturbs me."

_Only one?_ Aragorn wanted to ask, but instead he said, "What is that?"

"That in saving her I was forced to break my promises to you both."

More than anything that had been said those words brought home the truth to Aragorn. He well remembered the promise to which Elrond referred: that if the War ended in victory and he became the king of the Reunited Kingdom then he would gain Arwen as his bride. Now the War was over and as king he had taken the name foretold by his grandmother, but there would be no sweet reward.

Arwen was not coming, would never come. All the hopes and dreams they had kept carefully hidden away in their hearts for the last forty years would never come to fruition. For this to happen now when they finally could have been together seemed a cruel trick of the Valar.

He turned to the window in order to hide his feelings from Elrond, but when he did he caught sight of the shadow Arwen's banner cast on the courtyard below as it caught the afternoon breeze. The hope he had felt when the twins had given it to him mocked him, and he slammed his fist into the stone window sill. "Where is the grace of the Valar? Are they not to guide and protect those who follow the will of the One? Were they unable to keep Arwen from harm, to keep her safe until we could finally be together?"

He stood there for a long moment, breathing heavily. Then when the emotions were spent, he sagged into the wall. "Ada," he called, using the name he had set aside with his childhood. A moment later, he felt the strong arms of his father pulling him close, and for the first time in his adult life, he allowed himself to lean on another's strength. He closed his eyes and felt tears begin to seep under the closed lids.

How long they stood there Aragorn did not know, but when he regained awareness of his surroundings and pulled away to compose himself, his face and tunic were both wet with his own tears and Elrond's. When he looked out the window, the White Tree mocked him with its slender limbs and one lonely blossom. He knew the sign he had been looking for would not come, just as Arwen would not come.

The thought of spending the rest of his mortal life without Arwen chilled Aragorn. "You named me Estel when I was but a child Ada, as a promise of what I would bring to the peoples of Middle-earth." A gust of wind blew through the courtyard and for a moment, he wondered if it would carry the flower away. "However, she was my estel—she was what I hoped for and longed for in all the hard years I have experienced. And now I find that she is gone, and I…"

He swallowed and wished now that he could see her banner. It had been made in hopes of their future together, a future which was now impossible. "Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim."

He felt rather than heard Elrond stir behind him, and though he knew his words disturbed him he could not bring himself to care. "Estel… my son, you know this is not how she would have had it. You know the choice she would have made, had she but had the chance."

Aragorn turned back to Elrond. "Yes, I do. She made that choice many years ago when we were betrothed. It was not an easy choice for her, because she knew it meant parting from you, but when we plighted our troth, she vowed to turn her back on the Twilight—and yet in the end, it was not her choice that mattered."

The irony hit him then and he laughed, a bitter, grating sound that held no humor. "Well, you have had your way in the end, my lord. You did not want your Evenstar to bind herself to a man and thus be lost to you, and now she will not be. I congratulate you on your victory."

He spat the last words out and then waited for the Elf to say something, anything that would allow him to vent his emotions without giving way again to tears. Instead, Elrond simply looked at him for several long moments. At first, Aragorn returned the stare, certain the anger in his own gaze was visible, but gradually his fury melted beneath the calm understanding in his father's eyes, replaced first by shame and then by sorrow. "I beg your pardon, my lord. I was wrong to accuse you of anything."

Elrond placed hand on Aragorn's shoulder, and Aragorn stiffened, unwilling to accept more sympathy. This though was not the comforting touch of a father to his child, it was the bracing encouragement given from one man to another. "I did not hear an accusation, Estel. I heard a man overwhelmed with grief trying to find a rationale for it. Fear not, I can take your rages." The two men smiled ruefully, both remembering many times when a young Aragorn had ranted and stormed through the corridors of the Last Homely House. Even his most volatile, his emotional outbursts had lashed against the calm demeanor of the Elf and broken like a wave upon the shore.

Elrond's hand dropped to his side and he turned his back on Aragorn. Knowing there was something more coming, Aragorn waited patiently for what would come next. "I cannot deny there is a part of me that rejoices that I will see Arwen in the Undying Lands. However, when I told her that the war was over, her eyes were filled with such a joy as I have never seen before, in Elf or mortal. I would not have denied her that joy, not for any gain of my own. And loving you equally well, I would not have caused you this pain."

Irrational though it was, Aragorn felt a wave of resentment at those words. Why did Elrond feel the need to tell him this? He knew without being told that Arwen had rejoiced with the end of the war and all it meant for them, and to hear it only sharpened the grief he felt that none of it would ever happen now. Just a moment before he had been grateful for his father's presence, now he desired nothing more than to be alone with his grief.

Perhaps sensing the direction his thoughts were taking, Elrond turned back to face him. "It is a long ride from Imladris to Minas Tirith, Estel. Perhaps I might leave you now to rest from my journey." Aragorn nodded and summoned a servant. A few quick words later, and he was alone.

AN: This story started as an exploration of how Aragorn would react to losing Arwen. Due to my romantic nature, I needed a way to bring them back together and things evolved from there. I have taken great pains to keep everything in line with the rules Tolkien created for his world. If at any point something seems off to you, let me know.

Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_ and everything related belongs to JRR Tolkien. No copyright infringement is intended, and I make no money in the publication of this story.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Hope Fails**

_Arwen is gone._ That fact changed everything—the room which had almost been too warm only an hour ago now seemed cold and empty. Aragorn ran his fingers over the desk top, hoping the smooth grain of well-worn wood might ground him to Middle-earth.

After a moment, he wandered back to the window, as if drawn there by some unseen force. Mordor loomed directly ahead of him across the river, but now he turned his attention from that bleak land to the path of the Anduin. Its silvery ribbon faded into the horizon, but beyond that he could almost see the edge of the sea far in the west. His memories filled in details, and for a moment he thought he could almost smell the tang of salt in the air.

In his one visit to the Grey Havens, he had been struck by the antiquity of it. One could almost believe that the stone steps leading down to the water's edge had been placed there by the Valar themselves. The cry of gulls echoed in his mind, and he saw the carved grey ships waiting to sail to the Blessed Realm. It was one of those ships that had carried Arwen away from Middle-earth. He saw her then, borne on a litter by two tall Elves. The translucence of her pale skin caught and reflected the golden hues of the sun as it reflected off the water, and the grey gown she wore blended seamlessly with the ship.

As they turned to walk up the gangplank he saw, or imagined he saw, a long red slash on her right arm and he was forcefully reminded of why she was traveling to Valinor rather than to Minas Tirith. He now replayed his vision of the Orc attack. _How had they moved so fast?_

This question had bothered him for weeks. There had been something almost frantic in their movements, as if death itself was on their heels. A thought occurred to him, and though he tried to push it away, it would not be ignored. _Could these Orcs who had swarmed out of the Misty Mountains be some of the same we chased from the Black Gate? _Based on the timing of his vision and Elrond's own tale, it was more than possible—it was likely.

Now guilt was added to the weight of his grief, and the fierce pain of it brought him back to the present reality. Gone was the dreadful image of Arwen's last moments, gone too was the picture of her lying peacefully in the grey ship. When he looked out the window now all he saw was darkness, for night had fallen while he was lost in thought.

He rose slowly from his seat, stiff from sitting so long. He was weary as he never had been before, and he longed for the escape from reality that only sleep can bring. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other was difficult, but with an effort he managed to get himself to his chamber. Without taking time to strip even his outer garments, he lay down on the bed and allowed sleep to claim him.

_The early morning sun snuck through the drawn curtains, pale beams inching across the floor until they landed on Aragorn's face. He stretched languidly under the covers, knowing that it was almost time to rise but wishing to spend just a few more minutes beneath the cozy warmth of the blankets._

_Just as he made the decision to rise, an arm crept around his waist, anchoring him in place. "Do not get up yet," her sleepy voice told him._

"_A king cannot lie abed all day, Arwen. I have people waiting for my time."_

"_Not all day perhaps, but a little longer. It is early yet meleth nin—stay with me."_

He yawned and stretched with a smile on his face. She was right, it was early. But when he rolled over, he did not see her smiling at him as he thought he would. He stared blankly at the empty bed for a moment before he remembered—Arwen was gone. His eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall. As he rose from the bed, he could feel the tiredness deep in his bones. Sleep called to him and for a moment he wavered. Then he remembered the dream and he knew he could not stay here.

He lit the candle by his bedside and carried it with him through quiet hallways. It was hours yet before the servants would begin their morning tasks and the only soldiers awake were those stationed on guard duty. Even the birds were asleep as he passed through the courtyard, the only sound the light bubbling of the fountain. Up the long stairway he went, the flickering light of his candle adding to the steadier glow provided by the wall sconces, bathing the grey stones of the walls with a warm yellow glow.

He paused for a moment just inside the door; had not really given thought to what he would do once he got here. His whole purpose had been to get away from the lure of sleep. There was the pile of paperwork Faramir had brought him earlier, but… he looked at it doubtfully; would such dry reading really help him stay awake? "But if I am to be robbed of sleep, I would like to use my time wisely." He picked up the sheaf of papers and sat down in front of the empty fireplace.

As he settled into the task, he soon found the very dryness of the reading offered him the escape from his grief that he so desperately needed. There was no room in crop reports for emotion, no trigger of memory or tears. He read without pause until he heard a knock at the door.

He placed the pile of unread papers on the table beside him. "Come in."

Legolas walked into the room, and Aragorn felt a hint of tension begin at the base of his skull. "You did not break your fast with us this morning, Aragorn."

Aragorn glanced at the window, surprised to see the sun was already halfway to its zenith. "I did not realize the hour was so late."

"What are you reading that holds your interest so well you do not see the sun rise or feel hunger growing in your belly?" Before Aragorn could stop him, the Elf grabbed one of the papers he had laid aside, already read. "Here is an account of the barley trade in Anórien between the years 2842 through 2844. Truly, Aragorn?"

"Being a King is more than riding to war and wearing fine clothes, Legolas."

"That is true. Still, I find it hard to believe that trade lists from over 100 years ago could possibly be the most pressing thing you must know."

When Aragorn did not answer, Legolas sighed. "You were missed the morning. Elrond in particular seemed concerned when you did not join us."

Finally the man's attention was caught. Looking at Legolas closely, he saw in the Elf's eyes knowledge and sympathy. "Aye Aragorn, he told us of your loss."

Aragorn rose to his feet so quickly that he almost sent his heavy wooden chair to the floor. "I do not wish to speak of it."

"Then do not, but listen instead." Aragorn wiped his hand over his face and pressed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. _Why must he always be so persistent?_ He knew Legolas would not leave him alone until he had allowed him to speak, so he moved his chair back to where it belonged and gestured for Legolas to take the other seat.

When they were both seated, Legolas began. "Though you were raised in an Elven manner, you are yet mortal and cannot see life as Elves do." Aragorn shifted in his seat but did not interrupt. Experience told him that it was easiest to first listen to everything Legolas had to say before arguing. "Men are but travelers, guests in this world. You feel every hurt and joy deeply, for you must pack all the experience of life into a short span. When death comes it is almost a blessing, for you have burned out the candle of your life with an intense flame."

Aragorn sensed where this conversation was going, and he felt a rush of anger so strong that for the first time, he wanted to do violence against his friend. He clung to the armrests to restrain himself, the grip so tight that his hands hurt with the effort.

"It is not so for Elves. If we seem calm to Men, it is only because we know we must have energy to carry on through many long years. We savor each experience; enjoying the subtle nuances of both pain and pleasure as they come over time. When an Elf dies, they have not tasted all they should of Arda and the blessings of the Valar. Would you wish that upon Arwen?"

These last words kindled a fire in Aragorn's eyes that sent a fission of unease through Legolas. "I would wish she could life the life she chose, to be here with me; whether that makes sense to Legolas Greenleaf or not. Though I may not be able to truly understand Elves since I am but a mortal, I beg your leave to believe I at least understood Arwen very well. Have you forgotten she was one of the Peredhil? Did you think I hoped for her coming in vain?"

Even in his anger, Aragorn could not miss the dismay on Legolas' face. The Elf held his hands out and shook his head quickly. "Nay Aragorn, you misunderstand me. I know of the vow between you. I did not mean you were wrong to betroth an elf to yourself." Aragorn unclenched his hands and gestured for Legolas to continue. "When the Lady Arwen was injured, she was still of Elf-kind. Death for her then would have been early and unnatural. Think of the choice Celebrian her mother made to go over the sea, and she was in no danger of dying. Even if Elrond had been able to heal her, life would have lost much of the beauty it held for her. Be glad she has been spared that—and be glad that your fortune is greater than most mortals'. You know your beloved still lives, holding onto the memory of your love."

These words, meant to comfort, instead hit on the deepest ache in Aragorn's heart. "I am not yet that generous. That she should live and I never see her again is to me the worst of torments. Our last forty years were like that, and yet now I have not even the comfort of occasional visits with her and the promise of more to come."

Through the open window he could hear the shouts and laughter of people below, but there was no sound in the study besides his own harsh breathing. The truth of his words shamed him; that he should wish rather for her death than for her to exist without him was the worst kind of selfish desire. He saw again the sorrow on Elrond's face when he said there had been no other way he could save her life, and he understood now why he had resented that.

Finally he heard Legolas rise from his seat and he tensed for the stinging reprimand he deserved. "I grieve for thee, mellon nin." There was no mockery in the words, but Aragorn could not quite believe their graciousness. He turned around and found Legolas looking at him with sad eyes. "I do not hold your wish against you, Aragorn, and neither should you."

Then he was gone, out the door before Aragorn could say anything. Though he had heard the sincerity in the Elf's words, he could not take his advice. This new shame combined with the guilt he felt over driving the Orcs straight toward an unsuspecting Arwen, and he knew he deserved every ounce of the pain he now felt. Tears threatened, but he clenched his jaw against the relief they would bring. A moment passed, and then the lump in his throat diminished.

In those few minutes he realized that if Elrond had told his story at the breakfast table, Legolas would not be the only one looking for him. Just as he would not allow the self-consolation of tears, he could not bear the thought of hearing words of comfort he knew he did not deserve, so he stood and moved quickly down the stairs of the Tower. He was almost caught at the foot of the stairs by Gimli, but the mid-morning sun turned even the dwarf's shadow long, and he was able to duck into a hidden alcove before Gimli turned the corner.

He watched carefully until Gimli was out of sight and then slipped out of his hiding place. A quick glance around the courtyard revealed no one but guards and servants, so he stepped out into the open and walked toward the palace at a pace brisk enough to deter any who might have thought to stop the king.

Once inside the palace he caught sight of servants hurrying about their business, unaware that their lady had died—indeed unaware they had a lady. There would be no period of mourning, no state funeral for Arwen, for none but he and Elrond knew that she had been the future queen of Gondor.

He was so lost in thought that he almost allowed himself to be found by Merry and Pippin. Their chatter finally broke through his haze, and he turned a corner just before reaching they room they were exiting. "Targon said he saw the king cross the courtyard not ten minutes ago," he heard Pippin insist, doubtless in answer to a question from Merry.

Aragorn cursed his forgetfulness. He had not thought of Pippin's position in the Guard when he had crossed the Courtyard—nor had he considered the young hobbit's resourcefulness. By luck however he had still managed to avoid them, and he continued on.

When he saw the door to his room ahead, he breathed a sigh of relief. He did not intend to stay within long, for though it was a sanctuary from the well-meaning words of his friends, the solitude would make it too easy to yield to the sleep that now called his name. His dread from the night before still haunted him, and he was not yet ready to face what might wait for him in dreams. He would only stay long enough to change his clothes and decide his next move.

He had but one foot inside the door when he realized he was not alone. He hesitated but a moment; he could still walk away, but some stubbornness within him urged against it. This was his private space, and if anyone were to leave it would not be him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door fully open. A small figure sat on the edge of his bed, and for a moment in the dim light he thought perhaps Gimli had outwitted him.

"Hello Strider."

"Frodo!" Aragorn stepped inside and closed the door. "How did you manage to get in here?"

The hobbit smiled, and Aragorn saw a glimpse of the mischievous nature that had been missing since the fall of Barad-dûr. "It seems there is some benefit after all to being one of the Pheriannath," he quipped. "When I explained to the Chamberlain that you had desired to speak with me in the privacy of your chambers but had been delayed, he was only too glad to let me in."

Despite himself, Aragorn laughed. He was glad to see that the War had not totally killed the sense of childlike play that made the hobbits so precious to him. "Though this meeting was not planned, I cannot deny that I am glad it is you waiting for me. When I first saw the small shape on the end of my bed, I thought perhaps Gimli…" The two friends shared a look of understand; Gimli's heart held secret depths of compassion, but with typical dwarvish tenacity he did not always know when to tread gently.

Suddenly his reason for hiding hit him again, and with it a wave of emotion so strong it nearly knocked him over. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he saw again the Frodo he had seen on the Field of Cormallen and since. Though he still looked outwardly like a hobbit, his eyes were Elf-wise and filled with a sorrow that years could not heal. "You will find no peace in this house today Aragorn," he said. "Though Elrond told us you would not wish for company, all your friends are intent on comforting you. I suggest you hide yourself in the cloak of Lorien and escape the Citadel. If I am asked, I have not seen you." Aragorn took the cloak Frodo held out and bowed in silent thanks before leaving the room. He did not doubt that it would be empty when he returned.

As he walked down the corridor, his face now concealed by the hood of his cloak, he wondered where he could possibly escape to. Frodo's words rang true; he knew he could not hope to remain in solitude if he stayed within the Citadel; he was simply too accessible. But beyond the Citadel gate there were six levels of streets and alleys where even a king could get lost. "Perhaps the gardens, he murmured to himself. The stone walls of the City at times closed in too tightly; he longed for the cool leafy green of trees.

He had almost made his escape when Faramir stopped him just outside the gate. "My lord, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Aragorn hesitated for an instant. He could tell from his Steward's voice that the news of Arwen's death and what that meant had not yet reached him. Whatever he had to say would not be words of comfort or pity. However, the solitude he could find in the gardens lured him onward, so he spared the man a brief smile and said, "I am afraid I cannot tarry now, Faramir. Come to my study tomorrow morning and we will talk." Then, barely aware of the confused look he received, he hurried down the street.

Though summer was fully upon them and the sun shone brightly on the land, Aragorn felt none of its warmth. The coldness that had started in his heart the moment he had heard that Arwen was gone had seeped into the rest of his body, and he shivered in the warm breeze. Now he used his cloak for a different purpose, pulling it closer to ward off the chill that could only be dispelled by the presence of the one whom he had lost.

Once he was surrounded by the green of the gardens, some of the pressure he had felt binding him faded. He sank down beside a tree, heedless of the dew that still soaked the grass. Ah, but it hurt to know he would never see her again! Despite his words to Legolas, he did not doubt that Elrond had done the right thing; his honor would not have allowed him to break his promise to both of them if there had been any other way. And yet… Aragorn closed his eyes. He had imagined Arwen as his queen almost as long as he had known he would be a king. "I do not know how to do this without her."

The softly spoken words seemed to freeze him in place. He stayed where he was until long after the sun set. The air cooled, and he pulled his cloak around him, but still he did not move. Lingering in the back of his mind was the fact that he had responsibilities and people concerned about him, but he could not bring himself to care.

Well after midnight, something caught his eye. He looked up and saw a familiar sight—Eärendil giving his bright light to the world below. He remembered the tale of his ancestor, and one fact struck him: Eärendil had not allowed grief of any sort to keep him from his duty. "If he was willing to leave those he loved for the good of Middle-earth, how can I justify shirking away from my position?"

He rose and brushed the grass from his cloak. The pale light of stars and moon reflected off his grim expression. "In truth, I cannot. Though Arwen is not here…" The pang he felt at the thought made him long once more to lave the city behind so he could grieve in private, and this only convinced him that his decision was right. "I cannot grieve for her and yet be a king, and I will not forsake my birthright."

It was a different man who left the garden. Estel was left behind; King Elessar was all that remained. Yet if the king had but looked, he would have found hope where it always was—bright in the night sky, shining as a light when all others have gone out.


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: **This story was written while listening to the movie soundtracks. When it was time to name the chapters, it seemed an obvious step to title them after track titles or song lyrics. When I saw this track title, I knew it was perfect. The different spelling is, of course, on purpose.

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to my beta reader, without whom it would not be nearly as polished. Thanks so much for all your help.

**Chapter Three: The Counsel of Elrond**

Six days passed—six days and six sleepless nights. Aragorn managed his emotions well enough during waking hours, but he did not attempt to conquer the world of dreams again. Instead, he spent his nights as he spent his days: reading the tedious piles of law and edict that came with the end of a war and the reunification of two kingdoms which had been separate for three thousand years.

He allowed himself only what little sleep he could gain in the twilight hours just before dawn. Exhaustion kept the dreams at bay, but it also coated his eyes with a layer of sand. It was past midnight on the sixth night when he pushed away the papers he had been reading. "That is enough for now." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his aching temples.

Of their own volition, his eyelids drooped. Sleep had almost pulled him under when he sat upright. "Too early for that yet," he muttered, but he knew he could do not more work. With one last look, he left his study.

The lights of the palace gleamed bright. Though Aragorn did not look at the tree he had planted in great hopes only the week before, it cast a long shadow across the courtyard which he could not avoid. From the darkness, a voice said, "You have been working late into the night, Estel."

He stopped but did not turn. "There is much to be done, my Lord Elrond. Surely you can understand that, having governed your own people for so long."

"I can indeed," he agreed. "However I also know that sometimes it is necessary to take care of yourself. Sleep is not an inconvenience to be avoided, Your Highness. Your countenance tells me you have not seen your bed in many days."

The fatherly concern in Elrond's voice got past the outer walls Aragorn had put up around his emotions, and he finally, truly felt how weary he was. "I confess, sleep has been hard coming of late."

"Perhaps you would benefit from some friendly conversation."

Aragorn looked at him for the first time since they started talking, thinking to refuse the not so subtle request. The words died on his lips however when he saw the unwavering determination in the other man's eyes. He knew he could not avoid the coming discussion and only hoped it would not be as painful as their last encounter. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the Elf to follow him while he led the way to the library he had chosen as an informal audience chamber.

Once there however he was not sure he wanted to face Elrond. Instead, he busied himself with pouring two glasses of wine. He handed one to the Elf, who had sat down in front of the empty fireplace. Though he took the opposite chair, he did not look up at his companion. He kept his gaze focused on the goblet in his hands, twisting it slightly between his fingers. He heard a sigh and tensed, knowing the conversation was to begin whether he was ready or not.

"You cannot go on as you are, Aragorn," he said quietly.

His grip on the goblet was so tight that a distant part of his mind was surprised it did not bend. "I do not understand your meaning, my lord."

The click of metal against stone told him that Elrond had set his goblet down on the hearth. Knowing him as he did, Aragorn could picture his posture in his mind's eye—hands steepled in front of him as he gazed steadily at his son. "You cannot continue to close yourself off from everyone and everything that might remind you of Arwen."

The name finally drew his eyes up. "I beg you allow me to handle my grief in my own manner," he said, his tone icy.

Elrond nodded, though to Aragorn it seemed an impatient gesture rather than one of agreement. "Aye, you will handle it as you will. However, pretending it does not exist will only make it hurt more. Do you think I have not noticed that Arwen's banner has not flown from this tower since the day I arrived?"

Aragorn's face twisted. The order to replace the finely wrought standard with one of the ancient banners that had been stored in the attics had been one of the few allowances he had made for his sorrow. "It reminded me of her."

"As it did for me," Elrond agreed. "You did not see her working on it lovingly over the years. She fashioned it out of a hope that one day you would be here in this city, ruling these people as the king you were born to be."

"She made it with the hope that she would be here, ruling by my side," Aragorn countered.

Elrond leaned forward and put his hand on Aragorn's knee. "That is only a part of the truth, Estel," he said, his face and tone earnest. "If you wish to honor Arwen, you will remember all that she was. Much as she loved you and longed for your life together, she also hated the Shadow and longed for a day when it would not threaten Middle-earth. Rejoice with her that this much has been accomplished."

Aragorn set his own goblet down and rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes, I have fulfilled my destiny—Sauron is defeated. This brings me joy even in the midst of my pain." Grief demanded release and he fought for control. "But losing Arwen… Sweet Eru, it hurts!" He swallowed back tears before he continued. "Knowing she is alive somewhere… that only makes it worse—I do not know what to feel, and if I try to feel everything, it will drive me mad."

"You speak true, Aragorn—the emotion will drive you mad if you do not let them out. You must allow yourself to grieve."

That was so contradictory to what his own logic told him that he could not help but laugh—a harsh, joyless sound that echoed loudly against the stone walls. "How do I grieve without letting the pain consume me?" he questioned. "I cannot sleep at night, for in my dreams she is here. The pain I feel when I wake and realize she is gone… I cannot handle that. How do I keep the grief from ruling my every thought, waking or sleeping?"

While he waited for Elrond's answer, Aragorn reached for his cup and took a large swig of the wine. The sweet liquid flowed smoothly over his tongue and down his throat, putting warmth in his veins.

At last Elrond spoke. "You must find your own path in this, Aragorn. There are no answers I could give that would explain it for you. But if you do not allow yourself to grieve, that pain will destroy you from the inside out."

A wave of anger swept over Aragorn. That he should be tutored in grief by an Elf was almost too much to bear. "How did you become such an expert? How? Tell me, Elrond. When have you ever experienced anything like this? All that you have lost will be given back to you once you reach the Undying Lands. You know nothing of true loss."

He caught a glimpse of anger in Elrond's eyes before the Elf stood and turned away from him. "You think I do not understand the pain of losing a loved one forever? Have you forgotten that I lost my own twin brother to the Doom of Men?"

Aragorn winced—he had forgotten. "My lord, I apologize…"

But Elrond was not through. He turned back to Aragorn, and when he looked at him, Aragorn could not tell which emotion was stronger, anger or grief. "I have lain awake at night, wondering what will happen at the end of the age when Arda is no more. What will be the fate of the Firstborn? None know, but I would like to believe that there will be… something, somewhere… that all the Children of Iluvatar may be reunited. Then perhaps I will see my brother… my twin… he who once understood me better than anyone, and now is lost to me forever."

Elrond paused, his breathing ragged and tears on his cheeks. "This is what I mean," he said, his voice harsh. "This pain, this grief, has shaped all that I am. It is why I could allow Celebrian to go over the Sea before me, knowing that I would see her again." Aragorn had the uncomfortable feeling that he was blushing. How much he had forgotten in his own anger! "This is why I was reluctant to let you court Arwen, for I knew that I would lose another loved one to the Doom of Men if you did."

Aragorn felt a stirring of surprise, a welcome change from the embarrassment he had suffered during Elrond's speech. He raised his eyebrows, and Elrond said, "Yes, I knew, Aragorn. I knew that she would love you, for that has ever been her fate since the first moment you laid eyes on each other."

When Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, Elrond continued on, heedless of what he might say in his defense. "So do not tell me that I do not understand, and do not tell me that I do not know what I mean when I tell you that if you allow it, this grief you now carry can shape who you are. I would not have all the decisions you make for the rest of you life be shaped by the loss of Arwen, nor would she have it that way. Grieve now, for a time. Allow yourself to feel the pain, to experience the fullness of what you have lost. Then, when the time is right, let it go."

His anger finally spent, his voice and expression softened slightly. "I do not say let go of her, or of you love for her, but let go of the pain. You have defeated the Shadow—do not let this grief become a shadow within your heart. I would not have that for you, my son, and neither would Arwen."

Aragorn was quiet for a long moment. "I see the wisdom in what you say, Ada, but I cannot," he said finally. "I cannot let go."

He watched Elrond's vision go distant, as if he saw something invisible to the eyes of most men. He had only seen this a few times in his life, but he knew what it meant and he felt a tremor of trepidation. _What vision will he share?_

A moment later Elrond's eyes cleared, leaving a grim smile on his face. "That is your choice, King Elessar, but until you can let go of the past and accept your new future, the White Tree will not flower, nor will its one blossom open."

He walked away, leaving Aragorn sitting in his study, staring at his glass of wine. Elrond's words had struck deeply, but he did not know how he could possibly follow the advice they held. How could he let go of his grief enough to learn to see past it? Even now, if he allowed himself to truly feel his pain, he was so blinded by it that he could feel nothing else. How could he rule a country when he could not even govern his own emotions?

This question still plagued him weeks later when he stood face to face with Elrond once more, this time with Isengard in the background. They had come many miles together in the funeral procession of Theoden and the journey across Rohan, but they had not talked since that night. Now Elrond had asked to speak with him before he returned to Minas Tirith, and as he had been then, he was reluctant to grant the request.

As if he were reading his mind, Elrond spoke again. "Can a father not wish to say good bye to his son?"

Aragorn caught a hint of finality in the words and frowned. "I will not see you again," he realized.

"No, you will not. When I return to Imladris, I will begin preparations for my own trip to Mithlond and Valinor. I will not have time to make another journey this way, and your duties will keep you close to Minas Tirith for many months."

New grief swept over him, lancing wounds that had not yet begun to heal. To lose his father so soon after losing Arwen was a blow he had not anticipated, though in truth he had always known that once the One Ring was destroyed, Elrond would not stay long in Middle-earth. He was not sure he was strong enough yet to speak with anyone without giving way to his emotions, but if this was to be the last time he saw Elrond, he would not toss it away.

He looked at this Elf-lord who had been a father to him. "My lord…" One sharp brow rose, and he corrected himself. "Ada…" But he could not find the words he wanted to say, words that would ease the breach between them.

In the end, it was Elrond who made the first move. "Estel, I am sorry if my words caused you pain."

"Do not speak of it, Ada. We must agree to disagree on this point, shall we not?" Elrond nodded, and at least part of the burden was lifted from Aragorn's heart. He did not see how he could ever follow the advice he had given, but he did not want to part with his father on poor terms.

There was one more thing he wished to ask, but the restrictions he had placed on himself kept him silent. He knew that Elrond would not deny him, and yet he felt strangely vulnerable before him. "Did you wish me to take a message to Arwen?" Elrond finally asked with compassion in his eyes.

"Tell her…" He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Tell her that the love she has borne away into the West shall live on evergreen, not only in memory but also in my heart."

"Aye. I will tell her this."

"Thank you, Ada. _Sílo Anor bo men lín_."

"Goodbye, my son. _No i Melain na le_."

**Translations: **

_Sílo Anor bo men lín_.-- May the sun shine on your road.

_No i Melain na le_.—May the Valar be with you.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Across the Sea**

In the hour before sunrise, a solitary figure could be seen on the eastern shore of Tol Eressea. Arwen rarely left the sea; here only did she find a connection to Middle-earth, for the waves that crashed upon the shores of Valinor had started in the waters of Belfalas and Mithlond. Sometimes when the wind blew gently past her, she imagined she could catch a hint of Imladris in the subtle spring notes, and she would weep once more.

Her obsession with the sea did not go unnoticed. Though she was unaware of it, there was one who watched day after day as she came to the edge of his domain, lost in her own despair.

The depth of her sorrow touched Ulmo. Of all the Valar, he had always spoken most strongly against the forced migration of the Elves from Middle-earth. By virtue of this alone Arwen would have gained his sympathy, that she was in Aman against her will roused his anger.

However, much as he wished to answer her prayers and send her back, he did not have the authority to do so. Therefore, for the first time in many years he left the sea that was his home and appeared in the Ring of Doom.

Manwë was waiting for him as he had known he would be, with Varda at his side. "Greetings Ulmo, in the name of Eru."

"In Eru's name," Ulmo said and bowed. "Do you know why I am here today?"

Manwë nodded. "You are not alone in your concern for this elleth. The grief of Arwen has touched us all."

Ulmo frowned; it was not merely her grief that disturbed him. "Arwen is one of the Peredhil, granted the right long ago the right to choose between the two Kindreds. Her choice was to stay in Middle-earth. If it were not for her grievous wound, her father would never have sent her to these shores. Indeed, in watching her I have come to believe she would rather have died there than be sent to live here."

"As have we. She is truly caught between two worlds." Ulmo waited for Manwë to continue; he knew Manwë well enough to know this agreement had come too easily. "However it has not been our custom since the changing of the world to allow the Firstborn to travel at will between Middle-earth and Aman."

Before Ulmo could respond to this, Varda interrupted. "All this is true my lord, but there is more at stake than the life and happiness of Arwen." The two Valar looked at her askance. "The King Elessar also grieves in her absence, and he who was once named hope has turned his back on joy. I very much fear that on his own, he will harden his heart until he is no longer the king Gondor needs to lead them into the Age of Men."

Manwë cocked his head slightly. "I agree, and yet to simply send her back will teach neither of them the lessons they need to learn. Therefore…"

And then he had given Ulmo the words to speak to Arwen. He watched her now as she woke from her slumber. She stretched and brushed sand from her hair before walking to the water's edge, her gaze fixed on the eastern horizon. The water shifted from grey through shades of blue before finally deepening into a deep azure. She answered its call as he had known she would.

The damp sand gave way beneath her feet with a soft squelch. She walked into the sea, first letting the errant waves lap about her ankles, and then her knees until she was mid-thigh deep in the water. He knew the current was cold, but Arwen did not mind. Indeed, she seemed to welcome the sensation, her hands held out in welcome. "Why can you not take me back?" she cried. "You will return, why will you not take me with you?"

He chose that moment to reveal himself, rising up out of the waves in front of her. She nearly fell over when she saw him, but at his bidding the sea reached out to steady her. "The Valar have not been deaf to your cries, Arwen Undomiel. Tell me, what is it that grieves you most?"

She answered without hesitation. "That I have been cut asunder from Aragorn, not just in this lifetime but in all eternity to come; that when he dies, he will go on to whatever fate Ilúvatar has destined for men, while I shall remain here until the end of Arda—and then I know not."

She looked away then, but Ulmo spied the shimmer in her eyes she sought to hide. "Do not turn from me, Arwen. I am Lord of Waters; I know not only the tears you have already spent, but those which you still hold in your heart. I have come to this shore many days and listened to your cries. Now I ask you what you would sacrifice to return to Middle-earth."

Hope blossomed on her face. "There is nothing I would not give, my Lord, if I could return to Middle-earth."

"Then hear our conditions: If you wish, you will be returned to Middle-earth." He held up a hand before she could agree. "If you return, you will be mortal."

"That is what I had agreed to before, my lord," Arwen interrupted.

"Aye, but not like this. You will not be Arwen. You will not have your own form, nor will you retain any of your own memories. In all other respects—personality, likes, dislikes, skills—you will be yourself. If your beloved can fall in love with you once more, not knowing who you are, you will regain your natural self and all your past memories. If not, you will be doomed to live a mortal life without knowledge of your self."

Her recoil started from her toes and moved up her body until the words came out her mouth in a shout. "No! You ask too much!"

Ulmo crossed his arms over his chest. "You said you would give up anything to be sent back."

"Aye, but what you say is madness. Without my memories, I will not even be myself. Without my body, how will my fëa remain my own?"

The waves about them churned. "You speak much on the fates of Men and of Elves—things that you do not fully understand. The Lord of the West has made his wishes clear on this matter. Do you believe him to be playing you false?"

The pride he saw in her eyes disappeared and she was once again the frail elleth. "No, my Lord. Please forgive me."

He saw the confusion on her face and took pity on her. "Ask your questions, child, but do so with respect."

Arwen gnawed on her lip for a moment. "Could I not plead with Mandos to send me back to Middle-earth as a mortal, as he did for my ancestress?"

"Though yours was the choice of Luthien, you may not take her path." He saw the indecision on her face and knew Manwë had been wise in the conditions he had set. _Perhaps in this, at least one Elf may come to understand the imperishable spirit, _he thought. Aloud he said, "Do you wish to ask any more questions?"

She looked down for a long moment before answering. "If I do not look like myself, how will he find me? And if I do not remember who I am, how will I find him? And what name will I give him, if I know not my own?"

Her confusion was genuine, so he answered her patiently. "From the moment you awake in Middle-earth, you shall not be known as Arwen but as Olwen, for your true nature shall exist only in dreams. That is the name you will give Aragorn when he finds you, and rest assured, Daughter, if you choose to take this path we will guarantee he finds you. That is our promise to you."

Some of the tension left her body, but he sensed she had one more question. "If… If I have no memories of my past, what will remain of who I am?"

This then was the core of what she was to learn, and he gave her the truth. "The essence of you are is not found in your memories. Were those to be gone forever, your personality, likes, dislikes, and skills would all remain. I ask again Arwen Undomiel: What would you sacrifice to return to Middle-earth?"

Her spine straightened. "I would give everything, my lord."

"Then do you accept our conditions?"

She bowed her head for a moment and then raised it, clear resolve on her face. "I made my choice many years ago, my Lord. Now, by the grace you have given me, I will be able to keep my promise to turn from the Twilight and cleave unto Aragorn, my betrothed. I know not how he will find me or if he will love me yet again, but for myself, I will be faithful to my vows."

Ulmo nodded. "If you continue to show this kind of dedication, I do not doubt that you will receive the reward you long for. Until then, you shall not be known as Arwen but as Olwen, for your true nature shall exist until in dreams. Now go, say good bye to your family."

Arwen blanched. "Naneth… will she understand? And I will not see Ada again."

"Do you change your mind? You must make your choice now, to lose either your parents or your beloved."

She wavered but a moment, then shook her head decisively. "No, I will not sway for the course I have chosen."

"Then I tell you that by the time you reach your mother's house, you will find your father newly arrived in Aman. And here I will grant you one gift of my own; though you will not remember them, when you hear the music of the water, some part of your heart will be touched by the memory of their love." Arwen did not speak, but the expression in her eyes was thanks enough. "When you fall asleep tonight, you will awake in Middle-earth."

The form of the Vala sank back into the sea, and Arwen wondered if the whole encounter had merely been a dream brought about by her own grief. Even as she thought this, a voice sang from the depths of the sea and she knew it was real. She smiled then, the first true smile since she had woken in Valinor. The hope blossoming in her heart added a lightness to her steps as she walked from the shore to her mother's home.

She thought it would be difficult to tell her mother, but it was not. "I have watched you grieve, my Evenstar, and I have wished for a way to heal your pain. You forget that I too was hurt so deeply that I had to leave one land for another. Did you think I would not understand?"

Together they turned to Elrond, who had watched this interaction uncertainly. "Ada? Can you not see why I must do this?"

"But with no memories, without even your own form… will you truly be yourself? What more is there of who you are than the form you hold and the memories of your past?"

"I believe that is what the Lords of the West would have me learn, Ada," she replied, her tone almost light.

She stood under his critical gaze for a long moment, willing him to understand. "You would rather be lost in Middle-earth with no memories of your past than live forever without Aragorn, wouldn't you?"

"I would."

"Then I give you my blessing, Arwen. And what is more, I have one more thing to offer you—a message from Aragorn."

Arwen caught her breath—though she trusted the Valar that she would see Aragorn in a few short hours she would not know him, nor would he know her. This message would be the last words from Aragorn to Arwen in perhaps many months. "Tell me, Ada."

"He bade me tell you that that the love you bore away into the West shall live on evergreen, not only in memory but also in his heart."

Her eyes closed. "They shall be more than memory, my Estel," she whispered.

When her eyes opened, they were clear. "It is time," she said simply. Then she embraced her family and went to her bed chamber and laid down. Within moments she was asleep, and Arwen Undomiel never saw again the faces of her parents or the light of the Blessed Realm.


	6. Chapter 5

**AN:** Now seems an appropriate time to explain the motivation behind this story. I wanted to write about Aragorn and loss; I wanted to explore how grief might change him. However, I am also a romantic and I knew I needed a way to bring him and Arwen back together. To this end, I researched everything I could find on the nature of Elves and Men.

Why would the Valar agree to send Arwen back? Because she had been sent to Valinor against her wishes, against the choice she had already made. And what lesson did she need to learn? That the soul is more than just a body and memories, that even if those were both gone, the essence of who she is would remain. The bonus was that if Arwen came back in disguise, I could play with Aragorn as he continued to fight his grief for Arwen and at the same time fell in love with her once more.

**Chapter Five: In Bitter Lands**

"As you can see my Lord, the treaty will force Harad…"

Aragorn tapped his pen against the papers Faramir had laid down in front of him. A cloud caught his eye and he shifted slightly in his seat so he could better watch it as it raced across the sky. The sun shone with the golden brilliance early autumn; summer's warmth still seeped through, but held the amber hues of the season. His gaze traveled to the hills above the city where the leaves were already changing color. _It will not be long before the snow on the White Mountains comes to the city._

A cough broke through his thoughts. "I apologize Faramir. Please continue."

The Steward crossed his arms. "Perhaps I should come back at another time, my lord."

Aragorn stayed him with a gesture. "You will never find me eager to discuss this, so we had best get it done with. I believe you were going over the land concessions Harad is to make…"

Faramir did not speak, but rather fixed his gaze on Aragorn, who fought to remain still beneath the keen insight in his councilor's gaze. _What does he see when he looks at me like that?_

"May I ask you a question, my lord?" he asked just when Aragorn was about to prod at him. He nodded, though he was not sure if he truly wanted to answer. "Is there something else which holds your attention today?"

Aragorn swallowed the truth and shrugged. "Could it not be that I simply dislike all the paperwork and the needless haranguing with various diplomats?"

Faramir was shaking his head before the king finished. "Nay, my lord. You have been distracted all day. If there is something more important you wish to discuss…"

Aragorn stood and walked over to the window. The wind came from the west and he could smell the salty tang of the sea air. The reminder aggravated him further, and when he spoke, his voice was harsh. "All of these people—the corsairs, the Haradrim, the Easterlings—they all worked with the Enemy. When he lost, so did they, and yet we are trying to find a way to make that loss more palatable to them. I do not have patience for it."

"We are seeking to be merciful to those who were ensnared in his trap."

Faramir's quiet words deflated Aragorn's anger. _I must get away. _He turned back to Faramir. "I fear I am in no temper to go over treaty agreements today, Faramir. You may go."

Faramir looked out the window, then at Aragorn. "Do you plan to go into the wilderness tonight my lord?"

Aragorn sighed. "Can a king not keep any secrets?"

"If you wished to keep your intent secret, you should not have stared out at the hills with such obvious longing." Aragorn tensed; he knew what was coming next. "You remember the arrangement with the Guard."

After only a few months in the city, Aragorn had felt trapped by the stone walls. Years in the wilderness as a Ranger had made him unused to the feeling of living constantly out of touch with nature, and he had longed to see the stars as he lay down to sleep.

When he had announced his intention to go into the wild by himself for a night, the Guards had protested strenuously. Aragorn had refused their protection, and much to his surprise Faramir had found the compromise all could live with. He too missed the feeling of being away from the city, he claimed. Surely the Guard could not object to two well-trained men wandering from the protection of Minas Tirith for one night?

This usually suited Aragorn well enough, for it offered him a chance to become acquainted with his young Steward. Today however he truly desired to be alone, but one look at the resolve on Faramir's face told him he would not get this wish. "Very well. How soon can you be ready to leave? I warn you, today will be a longer walk than usual."

"Allow me to tell Éowyn, and then I am at your command, my Lord."

They rode to the Rammas an hour later and handed the reins to their horses to the guards. From here they would hike, but it served no purpose to spend their time and energy walking this far.

Aragorn set a hard pace, for the spot he wanted to reach was higher up the mountains than they usually went. They walked in silence as the sun slowly sank behind them, taking its warmth.

Though he tried, Aragorn could not forget Faramir's earlier words. "We are seeking to be merciful…" They held a subtle note of censure that he knew was deserved. His own words could have been spoken by Denethor—they did not display the wise, benevolent attitude he knew the people expected of him.

It was that sudden shame that had driven him to take solace under the stars. Though he had wished to be alone, in truth Faramir was little distraction. The younger man thought much and spoke little; Elrond would have admired this about him.

Melancholy struck him, but he was saved from thinking about it anymore, for they had reached their destination. A stream tumbled between two rocks about ten feet above their heads and fell into a crystal clear basin that shone silver in the twilight. From there, the small brook wended its way down the hillside to where it would eventually join the Anduin.

"I thought I knew all the countryside around Minas Tirith, but I have never been here. When did you find it?"

Aragorn looked around at the small glade. Faramir's question triggered a series of memories. The trees had grown in the last fifty years, but beyond that it was the same. He had thought to bring Arwen here when they tired of stone walls… With effort, he clamped down on the memories.

He pulled himself out of his memories with an effort, aware that Faramir still waited an answer to his question. "Many years ago, when I first came to the White City. Come, let us build a fire before daylight is full gone."

The tasks of setting up camp were completed quickly and efficiently, and they soon had a small rabbit cooking over a spit. The smell of roasting game was more appealing to him than any of the food his cook prepared for him, and when it was ready, he ate with vigor.

"May I ask, Aragorn?" Faramir said after they had both washed their hands in the cold water of the pool.

Much of Aragorn's earlier restlessness had mellowed during their hike, and he relaxed in front of the fire. "Ask what?"

"What it is that has brought us out this night? You clearly chose this spot for a reason." Faramir gestured at their surroundings.

Again, Aragorn was forced to clench his fists against the memories that rose up. It was not Arwen who held his thoughts now though but Elrond—Elrond, who had sailed into the West with the last of the Ring-bearers. "This week, the Fourth Age of Middle-earth truly began." He watched Faramir's face in the dim fire light to see if he would fully grasp what that meant to him personally. _I miss you, Ada. _Though it was no longer a secret, there were still not many who knew that he had been raised at Imladris.

He saw the exact moment when Faramir understood what he was saying. "I am sorry, Aragorn."

A lump lodged in his throat and he had to swallow twice before he could speak. "I have no need for sympathy. Valinor is where he—they truly belong." Angry at his slip, he moved away from the brook and leaned against a broad tree that was near enough to the fire to feel the warmth. _How many must I lose to the Undying Lands?_

He sat silently for a long time, staring at the flames dancing merrily around the fat logs. If he looked deeply enough, he could almost believe he was back in the Hall of Fire, listening to the Elvish songs of the Blessed Realm. He began to sing quietly, and the familiar words soothed him as nothing else could. In little time, he felt sleep overtaking him, and he welcomed it.

When Aragorn awoke, his back was stiff from sleeping against the tree for the better part of the night. He blinked once, wondering what time it was. His internal clock told him it was just after dawn, but there was a heavy mist coming up off the water that obscured his view of the sun.

He pulled his cloak tight against the damp chill and fixed a cold breakfast. Nice as a fire would be on such a morning, it made little sense to light one when they would be on their way before much longer. "Besides, we will warm up soon enough when the mist burns away and we are walking beneath the sun."

Whether from the sound of his lord's voice or his own innate sense of time, Faramir began to stir under his own cloak. A few minutes later, they sat side by side, breaking their fast on cheese and bread. Faramir did not seem interested in renewing their conversation from the night before, and Aragorn was relieved. He had revealed more than he was comfortable with, and if they could pretend it had never happened, he would be happier.

After breakfast, they took a long draught of cool, clear water and filled their skins. Then they started down the mountainside, carefully picking their path. They could not see far in the mist, so the journey downhill took longer than the walk the night before.

Shortly before noon, the sun started to break through the mist. The light first turned from grey to a pale yellow, and then something happened that Aragorn had never seen before. Each little droplet of water in the air reflected the light from above, and it looked as if the sky was hung with a thousand bits of adamant.

Beyond the shimmering fog, he thought he saw a shape form. He glanced at Faramir, who nodded slightly and placed his hand on his sword. Aragorn's sharp eyes turned to the right and the left, trying to find the source of his unease. On the surface there was nothing to fear, but he knew better than most men what could hide in such a mist.

Suddenly, a maiden appeared in front of them, clothed in a simple white gown that made her appear to be of the mist. Aragorn stopped so suddenly that Faramir nearly ran into him. "Good morning, my lady."

She looked around in the growing sunlight for a long moment before turning her gaze to him, and when she finally did, there was such a depth of loss there that he felt an ache in his own heart. "Where am I?" she asked.

"You are in Gondor, my lady, about four leagues from Minas Tirith." Her expression did not change. "You do not remember how you came to be here?"

"I do not."

_How far does her memory loss go? _"Can you tell me your name?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I can—I am lost, not addled." He heard Faramir choke back laughter and he had to hide his own smile. "My name is Olwen."

The healer in Aragorn came to the fore then. "Olwen, it is possible your memory loss may have resulted from an injury to your head. Tell me, do you feel any pain, any dizziness?" She touched a hand to her head, running it through her long dark hair at the scalp. "Are there any bumps or sore spots?"

"None sir, and neither do I feel dizzy."

She put her hand on her hip then and her eyes narrowed till they were naught but thin grey slits. "It has only just occurred to me, sirs, that while I have given my name, you have yet to give yours."

Aragorn placed his hand on Faramir's shoulder so he would go first. If the young lady had indeed lost her memory, then it could come as quite a shock to realize she had been found by the king. "I am Faramir my Lady, Steward of Minas Tirith and Prince of Ithilien."

She curtsied low. "Greetings my lord; may the Valar bless your house. Is this man one of your guards?"

This time Faramir could not disguise his laughter. "I am afraid not my lady. May I present King Elessar—"

"Aragorn will suffice for now," he cut in before the shock in Olwen's eyes could turn to panic.

"Your Highness, I did not realize…"

"You did not realize Gondor had a king again?" he guessed, trying to change the subject from his own identity.

"No, Your Highness." He caught a sudden glimmer of hope in her expression and wondered at it. "Does this mean… Is the Shadow destroyed at last?"

Something in her words or tone reminded him sharply of Arwen, and he answered with a curt, "It is."

"Praise Eru," she breathed.

A single ray of sun shone through the last of the mist. It lit Olwen's features and he saw the joy diffuse there. He noticed a fragility about her and felt an unexpected desire to protect her.

Aragorn wiped the sweat from his palms and clasped his hands behind his back. Something about the Lady Olwen managed to slide under his defenses in ways he could not understand, and he sought to put distance between them. "My lady, would you please excuse my Steward and myself for a moment?" She nodded and the men took several steps away from her.

"Well Faramir?" he asked in Adûnaic, desiring as much privacy as possible.

Faramir glanced over his shoulder at Olwen and then back to Aragorn. "I am not sure, my lord. Her memory loss seems genuine."

Aragorn nodded. This was the one thing of which he was absolutely certain. "It is. I was not sure myself until her last question, but no one could fake joy like that." He looked to where she stood under the cover of a large oak; even from here he could still see her smile.

"It is odd that she would just appear like that however."

His ability to clearly present both sides of an issue made Faramir a valuable councilor, but today his even-handed approach was most unhelpful. Aragorn sighed. "Indeed. You know this area better than I—is there a village or farm nearby that could be her home?"

Faramir shook his head. "My father coveted this land for hunting. He offered what few people lived here homes closer to the river many years ago. No one has lived between here and the Rammas since."

A twig snapped and Aragorn looked back to Olwen. The mist had cleared away completely and she had moved back into the sunlight. He felt again the need to take care of her, and yet still he resisted. "What do you advise?"

"It will be winter soon; the nights are already cold," Faramir pointed out.

Not for the first time, Aragorn felt like Faramir had perceived thoughts he would rather keep hidden. "I am aware of this."

"And she has no way to find food for herself. If there was a farmer she could take shelter with…"

"We have covered that already." Aragorn shifted his weight and the leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath his feet. "Very well, we will bring her back to Minas Tirith with us."

He beckoned the young lady and she rejoined them. "Olwen, Faramir and I were just discussing what aid we could give you, and it seems the best course of action is to bring you to Minas Tirith."

If he had expected her to fall to her knees in gratitude, he was disappointed. "What home is there for me in the city?"

This was the decision he had wrestled with, but now that the moment was upon him, the answer came freely. "My own. I presume you are one of my subjects, and thus your well-being falls ultimately on my shoulders."

"And it is possible that one of the nobles of the court may have heard of a missing young lady named Olwen. There are people in Minas Tirith from all parts of the kingdom. Nowhere will it be easier to learn of your family," Faramir added.

Olwen nodded. "Very well, I accept your generosity. How far is it to Minas Tirith?"

"It is a three hour walk to the Rammas, and then another thirty minutes by horse to the Citadel." He judged the sun's position in the sky. Noon had come and gone while they were talking. "If we start now, we will have to push to reach the city by sundown."

Aragorn looked at Faramir who started down the path with Lady Olwen by his side. Aragorn followed behind them and watched the mysterious woman to see what he could learn of her before bringing her into his home.

She questioned Faramir on the war and recent events and Aragorn soon realized that though she might know nothing personal beyond her name, she was well-versed in history and geography. Aragorn frowned. _If every instinct I possess did not tell me she is innocent, I would suspect her of being a spy._ He shook the thought from his head before it could take root. _She is simply an unfortunate maiden—though in truth her memory loss confounds me. I have never seen anything like it._

They reached the Rammas before two hours had passed and he again found himself under the lady's sharp gaze. "You were not sure I could keep pace?"

He shrugged. "It seemed more polite not to push you."

The guard at the gatehouse did not blink when the king and steward returned with a lady, nor did he hesitate when Aragorn ordered him to send someone to the Citadel to have a room prepared for his guest. He merely asked for a moment to saddle an extra horse and then excused himself.

He returned ten minutes later to tell them all was ready, and they followed him back outside. Aragorn watched Olwen approach her horse. She spoke softly to it and stroked its velvety nose with one hand while she gently took the reins in the other. After a moment, the horse nickered and Olwen took a firmer grip on the reins and effortlessly swung herself into the saddle. His brows rose; none of his men could have handled the animal better. The mystery of the Lady Olwen was quickly becoming more complex.

They crossed Pelennor Fields just as the sun set the walls of the White City ablaze. As they rode through the levels of the city, Olwen constantly looked here and there, sometimes twisting around completely in her saddle to take it all in.

When they reached the sixth level, he and Faramir pulled their horses to a halt in front of the stable and Olwen followed suit. They dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to the waiting stable hands, and then he turned to Olwen. "It is but a short walk from here up to the Citadel," he told her. "Shall we go, my lady? I believe we will all find clean clothes and a hot meal awaiting us."

She flicked a non-existent piece of dust off her skirt and carefully tucked a stray hair back behind her ear and he saw for the first time the nervousness she sought to hide. _Whoever she is, she needs someone to care for her until she finds her place in the world. _The protective instinct he felt earlier now turned to compassion. "You may rest easy, Lady Olwen. The people of this city are kind-hearted and will welcome you for as long as you live here."

She made no answer, but the lines around her mouth and eyes eased somewhat. Together with Faramir, they walked through the gate of the Citadel. He heard her gasp and saw the courtyard as she must—the majesty of the White Tower and the Tree of the King standing proud in the center of it all. Olwen edged closer to Aragorn, and he touched her hand lightly with his own until reassured, she moved away.

When they got to the palace, he found that his instructions had already been carried out. A maid led them to a chamber that had been prepared for Olwen. A tray of food sat on the table, and he noticed with approval the open wardrobe full of clothes.

The servant curtsied and stepped back into the hallway and he turned to Olwen. "I trust you find this to your satisfaction, my lady?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you."

"You are welcome, Olwen. Now I will leave you to find my own refreshment. If you need anything, you have only to call and someone will come to help you. Tomorrow we will find time to discuss how we can find your family."

"Again, thank you."

Aragorn bowed and exited the room, but though he had left the strange maiden behind, she would not leave his thoughts. _I wonder who she is and what happened to her. _He himself had lost a few days here and there in the course, but the incidents always followed a head wound. The lack of physical wounds on Olwen confused him.

He had once come across a small child whose entire family had been slaughtered by Orcs. The boy's memory was gone—his mind had forced itself to forget the terrifying images. _Could this be the case? If so, we may never find her family._

He saw the position of the sun in the sky and knew he did not have time to ponder the mystery of Lady Olwen at the moment. The council waited on him, and they were a most impatient group.

He was walking back to his room much later when he heard feet shuffling down the corridor. All the nobles were asleep and the footsteps were not those of a heavily booted guard, so he was curious to know how was wandering the halls this late at night. He turned the corner and saw with some surprise that it was Olwen, dressed in a nightgown. _What has pulled her from her bed? _"Can I help you find something, my lady?"

When she gave no indication that she heard him, he looked at her more closely. Though her eyes were open, they were unseeing, and he realized then that she was walking while still asleep. His concern deepened, for this was something else he had seen most frequently in those who had suffered greatly. _The story of her past does not seem to be pretty._

He watched for a moment while she drifted down the corridor. She brushed against the wall, and the velvet tapestries swayed on their hooks. _How did she come so far without waking up? The dream that has sent her out here must have her in a strong grip. _She narrowly avoided a statue and he knew he could not leave her to continue walking the palace blind. However, neither was he sure he should wake her.

After another minute, he hesitantly placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her gently in the direction of her own room. The short walk too much longer than it would have if Olwen had been awake, for Aragorn took care not to wake her. When they arrived, he led her through the open door and toward her bed. He watched just long enough to assure himself that she climbed safely beneath the covers and then he closed the door behind him and went in search of the nearest guard.

He didn't have to go very far. Ornendil was just around the corner. "Ornendil," he said, "I have a special duty for you tonight. Follow me."

Aragorn led him back to Olwen's door. "Have you heard we have a guest?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"I need you to stand guard at this door—no, she is not a threat," he hastened to explain. "Have you ever witnessed someone walking in their sleep?"

Comprehension dawned on the guard's face. "Would you like me to wake her if she stirs?"

"Nay, for we know not what disturbs her slumber. Simply turn her back toward the bed and close the door again."

"Very well, Your Highness."

Aragorn turned to leave, but one more thought occurred to him. "And Ornendil? Do not tell anyone of this. It can do the lady's reputation no good if it is known she has wandered the corridors in her nightclothes."

Ornendil nodded and Aragorn, satisfied that he had done all he could, finally turned toward his own chamber and bed.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Home is Behind**

Olwen woke in stages. The light coming through the open curtains pierced her consciousness first, and then in her half asleep state she heard the sound of footsteps and muffled voices in the corridor.

_Where am I?_ The memory of the previous morning was paralyzing. She had woken in a sheltered hollow at the base of a tree with no knowledge of how she had gotten there. The mist had chilled her to the bone, and it had seemed an eternity before the sound of water in the distance broke through the unearthly silence. The soft bubbling had called to her, and she had followed it to its source.

The sight of the water had calmed her somewhat, but when the initial panic was gone, the gravity of her situation had become unavoidable—she was alone in an unknown country with no food and no shelter. _Then Aragorn and Faramir appeared, like a gift from the Valar._

Memory of their kindness gave her the necessary courage to wake fully. A loud rush of air passed her lungs when she recognized the room to be hers in Minas Tirith. She tossed back the blankets and ran to the window. The city below her was bathed in sunlight and a warm breeze played with a strand of her hair. A smile on her face, she dressed quickly and then left he room in search of breakfast.

The serenity of her own chamber was a far cry from the bustle she stepped into. Soldiers dressed in black livery moved with purpose, their swords tapping against their legs with a soft thud with every step. Here and there nobles in fine garments gathered to talked, and in the midst of them all, servants darted back and forth.

With the exception of one soldier who stood directly across from her room, they all ignored her. _He watches me as if he was assigned to do so._ "Can I help you, my lady?" he asked.

Her stomach growled and she set aside her questions in favor of finding food. "Could you point me in the direction of breakfast?"

He smiled and held out an arm. "I will escort you there myself."

"I wouldn't want to take you from whatever task your captain has given you this morning," she protested.

He did not quite meet her eyes when he replied. "My shift has just ended, my lady."

Her suspicions were confirmed, but she took his arm anyway. "In that case, I accept your offer."

They walked together in silence, and Olwen noticed they seemed to be moving from a more residential part of the palace to an area filled with small parlors. The guard opened one of the many doors for her and said, "This is one of the small dining rooms available for guests of the king. I will tell a servant that you are ready for breakfast."

Olwen nodded, though in truth food was now the last thing on her mind. The splendor of her surroundings awed her; everything from the richly woven tapestries to the finely wrought silver candlesticks on the table spoke of great wealth. _You are in the house of a king, Olwen, _she chided herself. _What did you expect?_

She was fingering the fine linen tablecloth when two servants bustled in with more food than she could possibly eat in one sitting. They set it down in front of her and then one asked, "Is there anything else you require, my lady?"

"This will be more than enough, thank you." They bowed and left.

Alone with her thoughts, she was able to mull over the strange discovery she had made. _Why would the king have placed a guard by my door? He did not seem to mistrust me yesterday._ Then she recalled his initial reluctance to bring her to Minas Tirith and she wondered if she had misread him. _A question to ask when next I see him—though who knows when that may be._

As if her thoughts had been anticipated, the door opened to reveal another guard. "My lady, if you will follow me—the king has asked to speak with you."

Olwen followed him down a long corridor. Along the way she received many curious looks from nobles and servants alike. _They must have heard about the king's invitation to me,_ she realized. Combined with her recent discovery of his apparent distrust, the scrutiny made her extremely uncomfortable. She pasted a smile on her face and looked them all square in the eye. _Let them see I have naught to hide._

She was most grateful when the guard stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and knocked. "Come in," answered a voice from within. He opened the door, and over his shoulder Olwen could see Aragorn standing in front of a row of bookshelves.

The guard bowed low and then said, "Lady Olwen, Your Highness."

"Thank you. You may go." The man bowed to them both and left.

Aragorn sat down behind a desk in the corner of the room. "Please have a seat, Lady Olwen."

When she was fully inside the room, she realized it was not a study as she had supposed, but a library. The sight of so many books thrilled her and she could not resist running her fingers along the spines of those closest to her. The soft leather was smooth underneath her fingers and she breathed deep of the musty smell of old paper and ink.

After a moment, she remembered she was not alone. She brought her hand back to her side and turned to face the king, who was looking at her with the same curious expression she had seen on the faces in the corridor. "I apologize, Your Highness." She sat down in the chair in front of his desk.

He waved away her apology. "Do you know how to read?"

She looked back at the books and the gold embossed titles gleamed back at her. "I do."

"Then please feel free to enjoy this room as much as you would like. I chose it for today's meeting because my study, in addition to being less conveniently located, can also be a little intimidating. It seems the choice was appropriate for other reasons as well."

His generous offer eased some of her nerves. "Thank you, Your Highness. However, I do not believe my love of books is what you wished to discuss with me…"

"Indeed it is not." He tapped his fingers lightly on the wooden surface. "In fact, there are two things concerning me, and I am not sure which to mention first."

_Should I mention the guard, or shouldn't I? _She weighed her options for a moment then said, "Then perhaps I might ask a question first?"

"By all means."

"Why did you post a guard at my door last night?" She saw surprise in his eyes and hurried to explain. "I only ask because he was standing there when I left my chamber this morning, and it seemed quite clear to me that he had been told to stay there until I woke. Do you believe me to be a threat to the security of this Citadel or Gondor as a nation?"

The king's eyes flashed. "My lady, if I believed you to be a threat you would not have gotten within five miles of this Citadel."

She felt the sting of his rebuke and bowed her head in submission. "Yes, Your Highness." _Yet that does not answer my question._

"However, your question does help me decide what we should talk about first. Tell me, do you recall anything that happened last night after you retired?"

Olwen raised an eyebrow. "I had some disturbing dreams, but nothing beyond that. Why?"

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for so long that she was not sure if he intended to answer her. Finally he looked at her again, and though there was no censure in his gaze, she felt naked before him. "Last night when I was retiring to my chamber, I found you wandering the corridors of this palace." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held his hand up to stay her. "You were still asleep."

She did not doubt that he was telling the truth. There was an innate honesty in Aragorn's features that told her he would not lie to her. Then she realized what this meant; he had found her in the hallway wearing naught but her night clothes. She flushed and dropped her head again, allowing her hair to fall in her face so he could not see her.

"You understand now why there was a soldier standing outside your chamber this morning." She nodded, but did not look at him. "I guided you back to your room, but I did not want you to continue wandering. There is too great a chance that you might injure yourself in your sleep."

Injury was the least of her concerns. "Then no one else saw me?"

"No, my lady. Ornendil just reported to me, and he said you attempted to leave your room twice more before morning. Both times he turned you back toward your bed and closed the door."

Olwen felt some of the tension lave her shoulders. It was embarrassing to have been found half dressed by the king, but he had taken steps to insure no one else would see her. "I see."

"My lady, look at me." She raised her head until she was looking directly into the grey eyes of the king. The compassion she saw there eased her distress somewhat. "Can you tell me what your dreams were about? Perhaps we can find a way to prevent this from happening again."

"I doubt it my lord, but I will tell you. I was alone, surrounded by a haze." Images of the dream came back to her, and she had to swallow before continuing. "Like when I woke yesterday, I knew neither where I was nor how I had come to be there. I could hear voices—voices I knew I should recognize, but I did not. Though I tried to reach them, I could not move. I reached out with my hands, but I grasped nothing. I was completely…"

She faltered and he finished the thought for her. "Alone." She nodded. "This brings me to the other thing I wanted to talk about. Your family…"

Olwen knotted her hands together. "Do not concern yourself, my lord. I know Faramir was merely being kind yesterday when he suggested someone might know of them… If I had not heard you say there was no one local who could take me in…" She let the sentence dangle, for Aragorn was looking at her sharply. "My lord? Did I say something I should not have?"

"How did you know what we spoke of?"

She flushed again. _Fool! They did not know you could hear them!_ "I apologize, my lord. I did try not to overhear your conversation, but in truth you did not go quite far enough away and snatches of it reached me."

"Which is why we switched from the Common Tongue to our own native language, Adûnaic," he countered.

She shook her head. "Nay, you did not."

"I assure you my lady, we did. I did not want to move far enough away from you to ensure you would not be able to hear us, so to maintain privacy we spoke a different language. Now I find it was not a foreign tongue to you at all, as we had supposed."

"I did not realize… but why would you think I would not speak Adûnaic if it is the native tongue of Gondor? Do you not believe me to be Gondorian, as you said?"

It was Aragorn's turn to flush. "I confess I had not considered that. I am surprised though that you did not realize it was a different language."

She shrugged. "All I knew was that I could understand your speech. You must remember my lord that I know nothing of myself beyond my own name. The thought that I might be fluent in multiple languages had not occurred to me."

Aragorn tilted his head to one side. "I wonder what other surprises you will present me with."

"I cannot say, my lord. I trust you will believe me when I say I cannot explain them myself."

"I do, my lady. Memory loss is a strange thing, and acts differently in every person afflicted with it. I have seen men who could remember naught but what they had eaten to break their fast, and others who forgot only the details of the last few days. You seem to have lost…"

"My identity," she said quietly. The empty feeling inside her was too great for even tears to fill. _Without my memories, who am I?_

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Which brings us back to subject of your family. This morning, I asked the nobles who sit on my Council if they know of a missing young lady. They do not, but each promised to send an enquiry home. It will be some time before we hear back however; I trust you will stay in Minas Tirith until then."

"Yes, of course."

Aragorn shifted in his seat. "Then there is just one other thing. You mentioned feeling alone. It is not in my power to return the memories of your past, but I can introduce you to some people who might be friends in your future. Faramir and his wife Lady Éowyn will be dining with me tomorrow night. I would be pleased if you would join us."

His kindness touched her, doubly so because she suspected he was a solitary man who did not usually invite company. "I would be honored my lord. Thank you."

"Very well, we will see you then. I will send a guard to escort you when you are ready."

She heard the dismissal and stood. "I look forward to it, my lord," she said and bowed once before leaving the room.

She started toward her chamber, then changed her mind and chose a path that seemed likely to take her outside. After some twists and turns, she stood in front of the White Tree. _Strange that it bears but one unopened blossom,_ she thought. The solitary bud surrounded by green leaves echoed her own feelings, and but for the comforting splash of water in the fountain, she would have wept.

Finally she realized she was in the way and she started walking. _Surely someplace in this city there is a garden._ She went through the gate they had come in the day before and then turned right. It was quieter on this level than on the Citadel above, which gave her hope.

That hope was not false. The stone walls on her left soon gave way to a low stile edged with young trees. She entered at the gate and immediately felt something ease inside her. A sudden impulse overtook her, and she took her shoes off and let her feet sink into the ankle-deep grass.

She laughed aloud at the blissful feeling and ran barefoot to the other end of the garden. There she sat beneath a tree, finally free of some of the tension that had bound her since she had woken up the day before.


	8. Chapter 7

Before I start, I want to thank my reviewers. Your kind words and encouragement are greatly appreciated.

**Chapter Seven: Flame of the West**

The pale silver glow of moon and starlight lit the room when Aragorn first woke the next morning. He drifted in and out of sleep for a few more hours, but when the shadows on the walls told him it was nearly dawn, he sat up and swung his legs out of the bed.

He jumped a little when his feet touched the cold floor. "Summer is definitely over," he muttered. He tossed a few logs on the fireplace grate and quickly made a fire. At first, the servants had protested that this was beneath him, but he had prevailed. These early morning hours were one of the few times he had in solitude, and he would not give them up simply to have someone else perform a task he could easily do.

Once a blaze was crackling merrily, he opened the curtains and leaned against the window sill. There were few signs of activity in the quiet city below. Most people were still abed, though he heard a cock crow in the distance and knew that would soon change.

He studied the levels of the city one at a time until he looked upon the grounds of the Citadel itself. It was busier here, which did not surprise him. The Guards of the Citadel strode across the courtyard in preparation for the shift change, and servants scurried back and forth on their way to their duties.

A female figure caught his eye as she hurried toward the gate. _This is no servant_. A moment later, he realized it was Olwen. She slipped from his view briefly, and then he caught sight of her again on the sixth level. _Where is she going?_

He watched with growing curiosity as she entered the garden. She touched her fingers lightly against one of the trees, and he could almost feel the rough bark against his own fingers. She moved with such an ethereal grace, as if she was not quite of her surroundings—a light stroke here, a quick step there, and then she disappeared behind a tree. A moment later she appeared, standing against the garden wall overlooking the fifth level of the city.

From here she looked eastward down the river to where the sun would soon come up over the vales of Anórien. The sky turned pink and she tilted her face upward, almost as if to drink in what warmth she could garner from the late autumn sun. She remained in this position for a few minutes longer and then turned to leave the garden.

The spell she held Aragorn under broke, and he realized he had been watching her for several minutes. _It is past time for me to start my day._ He shook his head and moved away from the window and dressed himself quickly.

The image of Olwen lingered in his mind as he walked through the corridors, and he wondered yet again what had led him to invite her to supper. He was not in the habit of eating in company; though Faramir and Éowyn often joined him, he did not take meals in the hall with the nobles in residence nor did he allow them to intrude in his private dining room. _But there was something about that lost look on her face when she said she was alone…_

When he reached his dining room, he was only mildly surprised to see Faramir there, already nearly done with his meal. They had quickly found that breakfast was the best time of day to discuss any pressing concerns, for there were few awake to interrupt them.

Faramir stood when Aragorn walked in. "Good morning, Your Highness."

"Stay seated Faramir and finish your breakfast. What business do you have for me today?"

Faramir waited until Aragorn had filled his plate and sat down before he handed him a stack of parchment. "I took the liberty of gathering the Council's notes on the progress with Arnor. You'll note some interesting opinions—it seems not all the members are ready to welcome them with open arms."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. Faramir did not need to elaborate; he knew exactly which noble he was referring to. "I grow weary of Tarondor's resistance," he said, an edge in his voice. "These are my people. He was willing enough to welcome me; he will either welcome them or leave the Council."

Faramir did not answer directly, but looked down at his plate and began to move the food around. "Faramir? Was there something you wished to discuss with me?"

He pushed his plate away from himself. "I would not exactly say I wish to discuss it with you, my lord."

The uncharacteristic hesitation sent Aragorn's eyebrows flying up to his hairline. "Speak, Faramir, if you will," he ordered.

"I spoke with Tarondor yesterday evening."

"You have my sympathy." The hairs on the back of Aragorn's neck rose when Faramir winced. "Did he tell you anything in particular?"

"His daughter arrives today. She will be staying with him this winter."

Aragorn reached for his goblet and took a large swig. He was suddenly, vividly aware of where this conversation was going, and he wished he had not encouraged Faramir to speak.

"I see."

Faramir easily picked up on his distaste. "Perhaps we read too much into this, my lord. Vénea is his only child after all; it is possible she simply comes to visit her father."

Aragorn snorted. "That is as likely as finding a hobbit who cares nothing for food." He slammed his goblet down. "No, he is hoping I will choose his daughter for my bride. That is the only reason she comes."

Faramir did not argue, for they both knew he was right. In the past few months, a few members of the Council had become increasingly vocal in their desire that the king marry and secure the royal line. Though he knew he would eventually have no choice, he was not ready just yet. In truth, the more they pressed, the more he wished he could simply refuse altogether.

But this was by far the most blatant attempt to coerce him in matrimony. No one else had even gone so far as to suggest a specific lady, though he did not doubt that those with daughters had the same ambition. "She is to receive no special treatment while she is here," Aragorn said finally. "I will not give any indication that I am at all considering such a possibility. If she is here to visit her father, let her visit her father."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Was there anything else you wished to tell me, Faramir?"

He stood. "No, my lord. Good day to you."

After he was gone, Aragorn looked back at the food on his plate. None of it seemed appetizing. He left it untouched and strode from the room, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he worked to restrain the violent emotions roiling through him.

In his study, he attempted to turn his thoughts to the more mundane tasks of kingship, but he could not focus. His fingers tapped a fast rhythm on his desk, and he knew he needed to escape. He strapped Anduril to his side and sought out the fields were the captains were leading the men in sword drills.

Lady Olwen caught him just before he left the courtyard. "Good morning, Your Highness."

"Good morning." Aragorn was in no temper for small talk. He glanced past her as he spoke, hopeful she would see he wished to continue on his way.

But she was not yet familiar enough with his mannerisms to pick up on his sublte hint. "I am looking forward to dinner tonight. Will Lady Vénea be joining us?"

Aragorn stopped dead in his tracks. "I beg your pardon?"

Olwen smiled, and in his anger he thought he saw a hint of mockery in her expression. "I just met Lady Vénea. From the way she spoke, I thought you might be asking her to join us for dinner."

"Kindly do not presume to arrange my private life," he growled. He caught the look of surprise on her face, but spun away before she could say another word.

When he reached the training grounds, he watched for a moment. The men were sparring, and he felt a certain pride that they fought under his banner. "May I join you?" he asked during a brief lull.

The grizzled captain grinned. "We would be honored, Your Highness. I believe I will spar with you and allow the men to watch."

"Very well." Aragorn unsheathed Anduril, and a few men who had never before seen the Sword Reforged gasped, for it did indeed seem like he held a flame in his hand.

The sword master withdrew his own blade and the two men saluted. With Anduril in his hand, Aragorn's mind cleared. There was no room for anger or any other emotion on the field of battle. That had been his first lesson from Glorfindel many years earlier. Here on the practice field, years of training forced him to let go of the anger and bitterness he felt.

He crouched, ready for the captain's sword, and gripped the handle of his own more firmly. He waited for the captain to attack; when he did, Aragorn held nothing back. His captains were all skilled enough to withstand his own blows… for a time. The king began by parrying, but soon he was wielding Anduril with more and more force, the sound of cold steel echoing around the training field.

The captain fell back a pace. His trusted sword dropped slightly, and Aragorn took the opening. Thrusting Anduril against the base of the captain's sword, he twisted it under and followed the movement to the left. Anduril flashed in the sun as with one final motion, the blade jumped from the captain's grasp and made a dull thud against the turf.

The men whistled and clapped, and Aragorn bowed, first to them and then to his opponent. "Thank you, Captain. Men, you have an excellent trainer. Follow his lessons well and you will be a credit to Gondor."

It was past noon, and Aragorn went back to the palace to change and eat. As always, the White Tree stood in the courtyard. He avoided looking at it when he could, but now it was all he could see. High on the topmost branch hung the lone blossom, still unopened as Elrond had said it would remain.

_Until you can let go of the past and accept your new future, the White Tree will not flower, nor will its one blossom open._ He bowed his head and hurried inside. The call of duty pressed down on him, and despite his words to Faramir, he found himself wondering for a brief moment if Vénea would not be a suitable queen.

Thoughts of marriage led naturally toward thoughts of Arwen, much as he might try to control them. Elves were faithful unto death, and she yet lived. _She will never marry, why must I? _He forced these things from his mind. It did little good to dwell on them, for the facts would not change. With an effort, he was able to return to his work and accomplish some tasks in the afternoon.

As the dinner hour drew near, his conscience pricked at him. He had seen the look of surprise and hurt on Olwen's face that morning when he had left her so rudely, and he knew he must apologize.

First he changed yet again into suitable attire for dinner, and then he walked the short distance between their chambers. "Are you ready for diner Lady Olwen?" he asked.

The door did not open for a minute, and when it did she did not seem pleased to see him. "In truth, I was debating if I should simply ask for a tray to be sent to me."

He bowed his head in contrition. "I deserve that. In truth, I am here to apologize for the way I spoke with you this morning."

She leaned on the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. "I see."

"I am afraid I was not in the best of moods."

"Yes, I could tell."

Her simple matter of fact agreement shamed him. "I could tell you all the reasons why your words hit a sore spot, but the fact is you did nothing to deserve being the brunt of my anger, and I apologize. Will you please come join us for dinner?"

She smiled finally and he knew he was forgiven. "I accept your apology, Your Highness, and your offer of an escort." Olwen took the arm he offered and they walked together toward his private dining room.

They were about halfway there when another lady approached them. Though he had never met her, he was sure of her identity, and Olwen confirmed his suspicions. "Good evening, Lady Vénea," she said cordially.

Vénea ignored her entirely. "Your Highness! I am so happy to meet you!"

Aragorn flinched. He was accustomed to rank and propriety, but he could not stand obsequiousness. It was this that had driven him from the state banquet hall after only six months in Minas Tirith. "Lady Vénea, I presume?" He took the hand she held out and bowed over it. "Your father has said much about you."

She laughed, and it was a practiced sound that tinkled musically. "You must not believe the words of a doting father."

As so often happened, chivalry won the war with honesty. "I look forward to getting to know you myself."

She beamed in gratitude. "Perhaps we will have a chance to become acquainted at dinner this evening."

Her presumption rankled and he took great pleasure in disillusioning her. "Regrettably, this is not to be. You will find I rarely take my meals with the full court."

He did not miss the glance she threw Olwen. "Then perhaps you might ask us to join you sometime."

"Perhaps. Now I am afraid we are keeping our dinner companions waiting, as I am sure yours are waiting for you. Good evening, Lady Vénea."

"Good evening, Your Highness."

He and Olwen continued down the corridor, and after a moment she said, "You do not like to be catered to, do you?"

"I do not. I am but a man, one who happens to wear a crown. I accept that certain privileges go with the title, but in truth I would rather have a few words of plain speech, however unpleasant, than a mouthful of pretty lies."

He felt her nod, but before she could say anything more they reached their destination. Faramir and Éowyn stood when they walked in and would not sit down until he had escorted Lady Olwen to her seat and taken his own.

"Lady Olwen, you are already familiar with Faramir. The lady on his right is his wife, Lady Éowyn."

Olwen nodded to them both, but any conversation was put on hold while the footmen served them. "Lady Olwen, how have you found Minas Tirith to be so far?" Éowyn asked after the servants left.

Aragorn watched Olwen cut her meat into bite-sized pieces while she carefully considered her answer. It was important to him for some reason that she approve of his home, though he could not understand why.

"It is a beautiful city, though… perhaps too grey for my tastes. I long for the green of trees overhead."

Éowyn smiled sympathetically. "The stone walls are hard to get used to, are they not my lady? They are a far cry from the grassy plains of Rohan."

"Are you of the Rohirrim then, Lady Éowyn?"

"I am. My brother is Eomer King."

A look of confusion cross Olwen's face and Aragorn tensed. "I am glad to hear I am not the only lady who has needed to adjust to Minas Tirith,' she said, and he relaxed. He knew she wondered about Théoden, but she had been wise enough not to say anything that might upset Éowyn.

She took a bite of roasted lamb and then said, "Beyond the stones, there is but one thing that discomfits me here."

"What is that?"

"There is nothing for me to do. It will take some time for me to explore all the levels of the city, and I look forward to becoming acquainted with all the people here. However, there is nothing to occupy my time."

Éowyn considered for a moment. "Do you ride, Lady Olwen?"

Olwen's smile was instantaneous. "I do."

"I often take rides through the countryside on pleasant afternoons. It would be nice to have company, if you cared to join me."

"Thank you, Lady Éowyn. I look forward to it."

Aragorn knew he had been right to ask Olwen to dine with them, as unexpected as the invitation had been to both of them. "Perhaps Olwen might go with you to the Houses of Healing as well," he suggested.

From the startled expression on her face, he could tell Éowyn had not considered this. "Would this interest you, Lady Olwen? The work is not glamorous, but it does keep boredom at bay."

"I do not want to intrude, Lady Éowyn."

Éowyn bit her lip. "I will consider it. Thank you for the suggestion, King Elessar."

Aragorn knew Éowyn was not accustomed to spending much time with other ladies, but he thought she and Olwen might become friends, if she gave herself the chance. _At least I have planted the seed of an idea,_ he thought and went back to his meal, satisfied.

**AN:** I struggled with the title for this chapter until I realized that the theme that ties all the scenes together is actually Aragorn. In many respects, "Flame of the West" refers to the man who wields the sword as well. He ignited the passion in the hearts of men that enabled them to achieve victory at the Black Gate.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: On the Horizon**

A knock on her door interrupted Olwen's breakfast the next morning. She had just returned from the garden, and she wondered briefly who could be seeking her so early.

"Lady Éowyn!"

Éowyn took in her appearance with approval. "You are dressed already, good. I hoped you were not one of those females who take forever to get ready in the mornings."

Olwen hid a smile—clearly parts of Éowyn remained a shield maiden. "I was just eating my breakfast and then I shall be ready…" She let the sentence dangle, for she still was not quite sure why Éowyn was here.

"For the Houses of Healing. I have thought about it, and I decided King Elessar's idea was a good one. Of course, there are not many injured for the Master Warden to care for, but I am sure he can find ways to occupy your time."

Olwen spread butter and jam on a thick slice of bread. "Let us go—I can eat this while we walk."

Éowyn led the way out of the Citadel and down the quiet street Olwen was already familiar with. _Of course the gardens are attached to the Houses of Healing. _

The entry was so dimly lit that for a moment she could not see. In the absence of sight, her other senses were heightened, and the musty aroma of dried herbs overwhelmed her. She swayed slightly and Éowyn caught her arm. "My lady, are you feeling unwell?"

"Nay Éowyn, 'tis but the scent. I had forgotten the sweet smell of athelas."

"I shall never forget."

Though Éowyn's voice was low, Olwen heard and wondered. She did not have time to ask though, for the Master Warden arrived at that moment. After some hard questions, they soon learned that her knowledge of herblore rivaled the king's. He was thrilled to discover this and sent her to the herb room, where she was quickly put to work assessing and managing the stores.

The time flew by and she was surprised when Éowyn came and told her it was lunch time. "And when we have eaten, I have ordered horses to be saddled for us." The prospect of a ride quickened Olwen's steps and she rushed through the cold meats that had been prepared for them. In little time, they were riding out of the Great Gate onto the wide plains of the Pelennor.

Olwen noticed things she had missed due to her nerves on her previous ride. "I did not realize people lived here!" she cried when she spied a small house.

"Not many do," Éowyn answered. "In truth, the war was not kind to these people. Their homes were destroyed in battle, their farmlands trampled by horses."

Olwen frowned and turned her horse toward the closest house. "What has the king done to help them?" Éowyn did not answer and Olwen looked over her shoulder. "Éowyn? What help has King Elessar offered these people?"

"The king has been busy gaining peace for all his people," Éowyn finally answered.

Olwen's lips thinned. "What good is peace when you do not have bread? Let us find out what aid we can offer."

Two hours later, the ladies rode back toward Minas Tirith. "I had no idea," Éowyn said. "I have lived less than a league from these people and I never gave their struggle a second thought. How did you know?"

"I do not know—but I am glad I did."

Neither lady spoke again until they were inside the Citadel. The memory of the farmer and his wife striving for just a mouthful of bread for their five children had struck them hard. They had lived through two winters already; Olwen did not think they would make it through a third without help.

After they dismounted, Éowyn turned to Olwen. "Will you join us again for supper tonight, Lady Olwen? I have not had many female friends in my life, but I enjoyed your company."

Olwen gnawed on her lip. "I do not know… what will the king think?" She remembered the way he had dismissed Vénea the previous day. _I do not want to see that cold disdain leveled at me._

"King Elessar will rejoice to see us both settling into Minas Tirith," Éowyn assured her.

Olwen was not positive Éowyn was correct, but she acquiesced nonetheless and a few hours later she found herself back in the small dining room enjoyed by the king. He and Faramir had not yet arrived and she gingerly sat down in the wooden chair farthest from his seat at the head of the table.

The men joined them a few minutes later, and Aragorn's manner soon put her fears to rest. Thus the pattern of her days was set: mornings in the herb store room, afternoons riding with Éowyn, and dinner with the king. One afternoon when they returned to the city, there was a strange horse in the stable. "Legolas is here," Éowyn said. "He is a friend of the king and one of the nine Companions of the Ring. Dinner tonight will be merry."

Olwen smiled faintly to hide her nerves and escaped to her room as quickly as she could. When the dinner hour approached, she paced in front of her door a few times before opening it to call for a servant. "I wish to have a tray brought to my room this evening. Please tell Lady Éowyn that I am indisposed and will not be dining in company."

The servant bowed slightly and hurried away to do as she'd been asked. After she left, Olwen wondered again at her reluctance to meet the king's friend, but she could not find an answer.

She rose at dawn the next morning and dressed hurriedly against the chill that lingered in the air. Though it would soon be too cold to spend much time outdoors, she would not sacrifice her sunrise vigil. Ornendil was in his usual place when she stepped out of her room, and he shook his head in answer to her questioning look. She smiled in thanks and then walked away.

This was the first time she had slept through two nights in a row without sleep walking. The incidents were becoming more and more sporadic as she settled into her new life, and she eagerly awaited the day when she would no longer need a guard on her door.

The garden was silver with frost when she arrived. She touched a leaf gently, knowing it would soon fade in the pull of winter. Most of the flowers were already brown and dying; it would not be long before the entire garden was covered with snow.

Already the eastern horizon was changing from grey to pale yellow, and she hurried over to the garden wall. She held her breath as the sun finally crested over the edge of the world, turning everything in its path golden. For a long moment she stood still under the morning light, whispering a prayer of thanks to the Valar that had graced her with this life.

Each day, she was poignantly aware of how much she had been given. When she wandered the Citadel and the lower levels of the city, she was struck again by the kindness King Elessar had shown her by bringing her into his home. He claimed it was his responsibility to see she was cared for, but she knew not many would have enough compassion to carry that duty as far as he had.

After a month in Minas Tirith she was beginning to see that this was simply his manner in all things. He treated the serving maids who waited at their table with the same dignity he accorded to herself and Éowyn.

Her gaze landed on one of the houses dotting the Pelennor and she frowned. She had not had a chance to speak with the king on this, and it ate at her. _He is so considerate of everything else, how can he neglect his duty here?_

When the sun had fully risen, she turned to leave. She did not get far however, for outside the garden gate she ran into a tall Elf she realized must be Legolas. "I apologize for my clumsiness," she said.

"There is no need," the elf said, taking her hands and pulling her up to face him. "It could just as easily be said that I ran into you. I do not believe we have met. I am Legolas."

"I am Lady Olwen."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, Lady Olwen. I heard much about you yesterday and was sorry you did not join us for dinner."

"I am sorry I disappointed you. I found I was…" She paused, and the truth came to her. "In truth, I was weary of meeting new faces."

His laughter eased the embarrassment her admission caused. "How often I have wished I could simply keep to myself rather than meet all the visitors to my father's realm. Well, we have met now my lady. Would you be kind enough to break your fast with me?"

His easy manner erased all her reticence. "I would be delighted."

They walked back toward the palace together and informed a servant they wished to eat. The arrival of their food halted conversation for a time. Once the servants had left, Olwen asked Legolas about himself, and by the time there were done with their meal she felt she had gained another friend. As with Faramir and Éowyn, Legolas did not ask uncomfortable questions about her past, and she could only assume that King Elessar had informed him of her memory loss and she mentally added this to the list of his kindnesses.

That evening, dinner in the king's dining room was a lively affair. Olwen was delighted to discover that Legolas' long acquaintance with Aragorn offered many entertaining stories, which he did not hesitate to share. The king was unusually laid back, and Olwen found this relaxed Aragorn even more likable.

When supper was over, Aragorn joined Legolas in the library so they could catch up "Tell me, Legolas. What is your real reason for coming to Minas Tirith this winter? I well know how trapped you feel here."

Legolas accepted the glass of Elven wine Aragorn offered and sat down in front of the fireplace. "You are right, mellon nin. I am here to ask a favor of you."

Aragorn sat down and crossed his legs in front of him. "Whatever you ask, it is yours."

His words sparked a teasing light in his friend's eye, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his own mouth. "Are you not concerned that I might ask for something you cannot give?"

Aragorn laughed outright. "I have known you for many years, Legolas. I believe I can afford your tastes, however extravagant they may run."Legolas raised one elegant brow and Aragorn chuckled again.

Slowly, the laughter disappeared from the Elf's expression and Aragorn sobered as well. _Whatever he wishes to ask is serious._

Legolas stared into the fire for so long that Aragorn almost prodded him to speak. "I have traveled far in the years since the destruction of the Enemy, but I have not found a place where I feel at home. The glories of the Glittering Caves, as wondrous as they are, are no place for an Elf. I thought that perhaps I could find rest under the eaves of Fangorn, but for the first time in my life, trees did not soothe the ache in my fëa. And even when I went to my father's home, I knew I no longer belonged there."

Aragorn's heart sank, for he knew why his friend was so restless. "You have heard the call of the sea, Legolas. You will never be at peace until you follow it into the West."

Legolas shook his head. "I have many friends yet in Middle-earth. I am not ready to leave for Elven home."

"I confess I am relieved to hear that, for I did not want to say good bye to yet another friend." The two men looked at each other, and names hung between them, unspoken. "So tell me, what did you want to ask?"

"The sea does call to me. If I could live in a place nearer the water the deep need I feel might be assuaged, and this is my request. I would like to bring some of my kin and settle South Ithilien."

As soon as the words were spoken, Aragorn felt the rightness in them. In his mind's eye, he saw the neglected glades restored to their earlier beauty, and even greater. The presence of the Elves would bring nature back to the land. "Gondor would welcome you and your brethren. The land of South Ithlien I give as home for Elves as long as you remain on these shores."

Legolas smiled, and Aragorn saw relief in his eyes. "Thank you, Aragorn. And now I find the late hour catching up with me. Good night."

Aragorn remained in the library for a few hours after Legolas had gone, reading over papers that needed his signature. When at last his work was done he stood, wincing as he straightened the kinks in his back. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that came from too many hours spent hunched over books and parchment.

The corridors were silent as he walked to his room. He was almost there when a slight shuffling alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. The situation was so like the time he had found Olwen sleep walking that he expected to see her when he turned. _Why did Ornendil not stop her?_

The answer was obvious as soon as he turned around: it was not Lady Olwen after all. "Lady Vénea! What are you doing walking the halls so late?" _And so scantily clad,_ he added silently, for the lady was dressed in a sheer gown that did little to hide her considerable assets.

A moment later, those assets were pressed against him when Vénea threw herself into his arms. "Your Highness!" she exclaimed. "I am so relieved to see you!"

Aragorn gently disentangled himself from her grasp before answering. "How may I help you, my lady?"

Vénea shuddered delicately, one hand pressed against her cheek. "I had the most horrible dream, and when I woke I could not bear to stay in my dark room all alone. I thought only to walk the halls until I could sleep, but I fear I became terribly turned around. Everything looks so different in the dark."

Aragorn was quite sure he was being set up, but as much as he wished, he could not leave her alone. "I would be glad to escort you back to your room." Her face fell slightly and he wondered what offer she had hoped for. However, she took his arm and allowed herself to be led back to her own room, which was in truth but a few corridors away. Once he was free of the lady, Aragorn finally returned to his own room and bed.

As he did every morning, he rose early and went to the window. Since the first morning he had seen Olwen slip from the Citadel to greet the dawn, he had watched her, observing her ritual. He knew it was a fanciful way to start the day, but the pleasure she took in these few moments eased some of the ache in his own heart.

This morning as he watched her glide across the courtyard, he was driven by a sudden impulse to join her. Before he could consider his actions, he pulled his cloak on and a moment later, he was out under the fading stars. The morning air was crisp and he breathed deeply of smoke and the earthy smells of autumn as he walked toward the garden.

He paused for a moment at the gate. The stone walls surrounding this green, living place had often seemed odd to him. He was not accustomed to seeing nature contained in this way. It had seemed to him as a young man when he had first come to the city, though he was slightly used to it now. Still, he felt a slight foreboding of what would happen to them if they could not learn nature was not something that could be subdued by men.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he was almost upon Olwen before he saw her. He managed to stop before she could sense his presence and watched her. It was nearly sunrise, and she stood facing the east as she always did.

Up close like this the moment seemed much more intimate than it had from his chamber window. He had not been able to see before the faint smile that played with the ends of her lips as she let those first rays of the dawn caress her face. He noticed the way the pink hues danced over her features and suddenly had difficulty breathing. _Perhapos I should not have come._

He shifted and the frosty grass crunched beneath his feet. Olwen opened her eyes with a little gasp. "My lord!" she said. "I did not expect to see you here."

Aragorn smiled, feeling a bit like a child caught doing something they knew to be wrong. "I have watched you many a morning from my window," he pointed toward the turret window, "and I decided to join you today. I hope that is not to your dislike?"

She pursed her lips slightly and he knew she was truly considering his question. When she finally answered, she spoke slowly, as if she had just discovered something interesting. "Nay, not at all. I confess I have thought of this time as my chance to prepare for the day in solitude, but your presence does not hinder me from that."

He looked at her closely. Though she was talking to him, she was still smiling and leaning into the embrace of the sun. "You truly love the dawn, do you not my lady?"

She looked at him then. "Aye, I do. The day is fresh, with no irritations or mistakes to mar it."

He paused. The thought had never occurred to him. He was well acquainted with the cold face of the dawn, but he had always preferred the fading light of evening. With her words, he could see the possibilities of morning better than he ever had before.

"Have you always loved mornings, do you think?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light.

She did not answer at once, and he worried that his veiled reference to her memory loss had hurt her. "I cannot say," she said finally. "This moment when I first greet the day is certainly tied to when I woke for the first time in the misty woods. Perhaps that is why I love it—if I did not, I would fear it, and that would do little good."

Her words were wise, and Aragorn found himself pitying the lady and admiring her not a little. "You have taught me much this morning," he murmured. "I trust I will continue to learn from you, if you will allow me to join you in the mornings."

The sun rose fully over the horizon at just that moment, and he could not tell if the sudden flush on her face was because of his words, or from the light of the sun. At any rate, it cemented more fully for him the thought that she was a creature of the morning, and when she nodded her assent, he felt a rush of achievement.

The following morning, he rose just before the dawn and followed the previous morning's path into the garden. This morning, the lady was not surprised to see him and greeted him with a smile. He smiled in return, and without a word they turned to watch the sun as it rose over the city.

He was surprised that he could share such a comfortable silence in the presence of one he had known for but a short time. There was something familiar to him about Olwen, though he could not put his finger on what it was. He glanced over at her in the early morning light and studied her. After several long moments, he realized it was her serenity that he recognized. She was utterly at peace with herself and her surroundings in a way that reminded him much of the Elves.

Unaware of his intense gaze, she turned from the sun and wandered beneath the trees. There she found a small clump of elanor growing, and she knelt to breath deeply of their fragrance. _I should leave her; she is no longer aware of my presence._

His feet would not obey the will of his mind however, and after a moment, she felt his gaze on her and turned to look at him. "Did you need something, my lord?"

He flushed, though he did not know why. "Nay, my lady. I was simply trying to… Never mind. It matters not. Have you broken your fast yet?"

"I have eaten breakfast with Legolas these last few mornings, but I am sure he would not mind if I abandoned him this once." Again, he felt a small thrill and wondered at it. _Why should I be happy she chooses to spend her time with me?_

He shook his head and offered her his arm. Together, they returned to the Citadel and he led her to the dining room where a meal was already laid out for him.

She took it in with a raised eyebrow as she sat down at the table. "Do you often eat this early, Aragorn?" she questioned.

He laughed ruefully. "I am afraid, Lady Olwen, that the glamour of kingship is all for show. In reality, it is many hours of hard work. I rise with the sun and do not sleep until well after it has set. There are many nights when I can be found in the royal study long into the night, pouring over some official document or another."

Now it was her turn to study him. "You take your duties very seriously, don't you?"

He nodded. "I do. They have been impressed upon me since a very early age, even before I knew of my heritage."

"You did not always know you were the heir to the throne?"

"The heirs of Isildur have been fostered by Elrond at Imladris for generations," he began. "There too was I raised, and out of wisdom he kept my true identity from me. The Shadow of the Enemy was at that time growing stronger, and he knew war would come in my lifetime. I was given the name Estel, and loved by Elrond as if I were his own."

"When did you learn the truth?"

"I was twenty when Elrond saw the time had come to tell me who I truly was." _And the next day I met Arwen._ He shook his head again; this was the first time in many months that a memory of Arwen had slipped into his conscious mind.

He cleared his throat and continued. "My father showed me the Shards of Narsil and told me who my ancestors had been. It was a surprise to me, and yet not wholly, for I had always felt that there was some doom hanging over me, some hold that fate had on me that would not let me go. In truth, it was a relief to find out what it was."

"Perhaps this is why I feel so at ease with you," Olwen murmured. He looked at her in question, and she shrugged slightly. "You understand what it is like to not know who you really are."

He saw again in her eyes the bleak loneliness that appeared now and again, and he took her hand. "Fear not, my lady. I do not believe you will be alone forever."

She rose from the table, and he mirrored the movement as courtesy demanded. "I hope you have a pleasant day, my lord."

On the way back to her chamber, Olwen considered the king's actions. He had been watching her, apparently for many days. _Why did he choose to join me today?_ It was the first time she had spent alone with him since that afternoon in the library. Then he had invited her to breakfast—_where I very nearly broke down_, she remembered with a groan.

Something about King Elessar made her feel vulnerable. Talking to him brought to the surface all the emotions she worked so hard to keep hidden. Part of her wished she had not agreed to let him to join her in the mornings, but he had looked so hopeful that she had not felt she could refuse him anything.

She recalled his comments about duty while she prepared to join Éowyn in the Houses of Healing, and she frowned. _I do not see why he does not take care of the poor on his own doorstep. Perhaps I can speak with him about it tomorrow morning._


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Aníron…**

When Aragorn entered the garden the next morning, he sensed there was something on Olwen's mind. He started to speak, but she shook her head and nodded toward the ever-lightening sky. _Very well, I can wait._

She turned to him after the sun had risen, and he could see a hint of steely resolve in her eyes. "Do you know what I see every morning when I stand here, my lord?"

He looked past her. In the city below them, people were stirring from their homes. "Vendors setting up their stalls in the market?" It was a poor guess and he knew it.

She shook her head. "Look past the city gates, what do you see?"

Aragorn looked again. The frost on the Pelennor had already thawed beneath the sun's warmth and the grass was bright green. Somehow he did not think she referred to the beauty of an autumn morning however. "I do not know, my lady."

"Do you see the people, my lord?"

Those quiet words shocked Aragorn. He had not seen the house that were barely rebuilt. For two years he had ridden by them, heedless to their need. He turned back to Olwen who was looking at him steadily. "They need your help, my lord. You are their king—if you do not care for them, who will?"

"What do they need?"

That question was all the encouragement Olwen needed. "I have been speaking with them and offering what little I had. Winter comes quickly, and thought it is not as severe in Gondor as in other parts of Middle-earth, it still becomes quite cold. They need blankets and firewood, which I can take to them—if that is acceptable to you, my lord."

Her sudden obeisance amused him. "I think that if you can so successfully take me to task, Lady Olwen, then you should call me by my given name."

She smiled and blushed lightly. "Very well, my lord Aragorn."

Many times in the evenings Aragorn caught a hint of melancholy on the lady's face, but beneath the dawn she always smiled. For this reason alone he would have continued to share those precious moments with her, despite the dropping temperature. The simple pleasure she found in the garden was immensely gratifying.

He valued their time together as well, for the lady had a sharp wit and a broad understanding of politics. Over the next month, he came to rely on her clear-sighted views in the stickier policy issues. She could slice through five days worth of endless discussions with his councilors and tell him in five sentences what needed to be done. He also enjoyed hearing of her new relationship with the poor. Her deliveries were well underway, and the people loved her.

When they set the more serious subjects aside, she was still a delight to talk with. In the back of his mind lingered the question of her family—why had they not come looking for her? He could not truly regret that no one had, for he enjoyed her company too much. He knew it bothered her however, so he was not surprised when she brought it up one morning.

"Aragorn, how long will you continue to pretend that someone will come to Minas Tirith looking for me?"

He had been watching the sunrise, but he turned quickly to look at her. Her brow was drawn into a tight furrow and the hands that were usually so still fussed with a non-existent flaw in her gown. "What do you mean?"

"It is clear that if I have a family somewhere, they will not come to Minas Tirith in search of me," she repeated. "Was that not the reason you brought me here? How much longer can I stay, knowing that will never happen?"

He heard the intent behind her words and frowned a little. "My lady, you are welcome in this city as long as I am its King. Has anyone made you feel unwelcome?" She shook her head. "Then I beg you consider this your home. It is true, it is unlikely that your family will find you, should any remain." She closed her eyes briefly, and he laid a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "I know what it is like to lose family. My mother, my foster father, m…" When he cut himself off, she looked at him curiously. "Can you not look forward to this new life without letting go of your longing for your past?"

The only sign of her inward struggle was a slight clenching of her fists by her sides. The specter of Arwen rose between them, and he felt guilty for asking her to do what he himself could not do—let go of the past enough to embrace the future.

Finally her hands relaxed and she turned back to him. "I will not ever stop longing for my past and my memories, my lord," she admitted. "However, perhaps I can accept the gift Elbereth has given me—the promise of a future here in Minas Tirith."

She gazed at him for a long moment with a look he was beginning to recognize meant she was taking his measure before asking a difficult question. The careful consideration give way to determination, and he felt a flush of pride that he had passed whatever test she was putting him to. "I would like to ask what might be an impertinent question. Please feel free to not answer."

For a moment, he considered refusing, for he knew what she was about to ask. For some reason however he found himself wanting to tell her, so instead he nodded, despite the sudden clenching in his stomach.

"You hesitated a moment ago when you were listing those you had lost. May I ask…"

His chest tightened and he had to take a deep breath before he could speak. "You wish to know who else I lost."

"Yes."

He closed his eyes briefly against the pain that washed over him at her agreement. "I do not usually speak of this," he said a moment later, his voice tight with emotion, "but I find I cannot put you off with platitudes. The other who was lost to me was my betrothed."

He paused and looked out at the city. In his mind's eye he could see Arwen again as she had been that evening in Cerith Amroth when they had plighted their troth, and as always it pained him to leave that behind.

After a long moment of silence, he felt Olwen's hand on his arm. He turned to look at her and was struck dumb by the compassionate look in her eyes. "What happened?"

Memories he had thought were locked away forever engulfed him, and he swallowed back tears. "She was attacked by Orcs shortly after the Fall of Barad-dûr . Her father could not heal her, so he sent her across the sea to join her kin."

She drew her breath in sharply. "She was an Elf."

"Yes. Elrond's daughter, Arwen."

The sun was now completely risen over the edge of the mountains, and he looked down at the Anduin which wound its way through Gondor. The river had always been there, and would be there long after he and all his people were gone. He had learned that constancy from his father, but it made it so very difficult to let go of the past.

_Ada, how can I do what you asked?_ he cried out silently. _How can I stay true to Arwen and move on with the future?_

As always, his memories soon turned dark, and he crossed his arms across his chest. "If I could but go back in time to the week after the destruction of the One Ring, I would work harder at catching the last of Orcs before they could cross the Misty Mountains into Imladris."

"Aragorn." It was the first time she had called him by name, and the surprise pulled him back to the present. Olwen's grey eyes were filled with concern. "Surely you do not believe this is your fault at all."

Aragorn gripped the rough stone wall so hard it bit into the palms of his hand. "I do not know what to believe."

She nodded, and her acceptance took the edge off his bitterness. "Do you resent Elrond for sending Arwen over the sea?"

"No," he answered, and he realized this at least was finally true. "I would rather know she is alive somewhere than have her gone forever."

"Then take comfort in the knowledge that she lives across the sea, loving you still. I would give anything my lord to know there was one out there who loved me—even if I knew also that I would never see them again."

With this parting shot, Olwen turned and left the garden. She did not go to the dining parlor where she knew Legolas would be waiting; instead, she returned to the privacy of her chamber.

She stood on her balcony and listened to the sounds of the city waking for the day. Swords clanged on the practice field and vendors hawked their wares at the market. She heard it all but she did not see it, for her vision was filled with the image of Aragorn's sorrowful eyes.

She had felt from the start that there was something both Aragorn and Legolas did not speak of, some secret in his past. She had wondered at it, but had not pried. Now she knew what they did not speak of: Aragorn's lost love. That he still loved her she did not doubt; the grief on his face spoke volumes.

Her last words to Aragorn were the truest she had ever said, and yet they also concealed a greater truth. For while she longed with all her heart to know someone loved her, what she truly wanted was for Aragorn to love her.


	11. Chapter 10

**AN:** Thanks to all who have taken time to review. I spent about 9 months working on this story, and it means a lot to hear your comments. This chapter is one of my favorites; I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter Ten: Love Half Given**

November gave way to December, and the north winds from the Ered Nimrais whipped around Mount Mindolliun. The gusts blew through Ecthelion's Tower in great drafts, throwing open windows and doors that were not securely shut. This happened so frequently that when someone knocked at his door, Aragorn did not answer. A second knock pulled him from his work, and he looked up. "Come in."

The door opened slowly and a guard stepped inside. "Your Highness, there are people on the sixth level who are demanding to see you."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. It was not the time of year when one typically expected travelers. "Who are they?"

The guard shuffled his feet slightly. "They would not give their names, sire, and we did not recognize them."

He considered for a moment. It was possible, he knew, that these strange men were assassins paid to kill him. However, something told him this was not the case. "Tell the gate warden to let them through. I will meet them in the courtyard."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Aragorn waited a minute then he followed. He wondered again at the identity of his guests, but he had his hand on the door before a startling possibility presented itself. _Could it be Olwen's family?_

His fingers tightened on the brass handle and he wished he could them away without seeing them. _She has a home now in Minas Tirith_. But he remembered the sadness on her face when she had asked about her family and he knew he could not do that to her. He released a breath and pushed the door open.

Instead of the older couple he had expected, two Elves stood near the fountain, talking with the guards. His jaw dropped and he looked first at one, then the other. After a few minutes, they grinned and Elladan said, "You needn't look so shocked, Estel."

The familiar teasing tone restored Aragorn's voice. "I would not be if you visited more frequently. Indeed, my guards did not even recognize you."

They shrugged and Elrohir said, "'Tis but one of the sacrifices made in a life of wandering. I recall a time when Erestor barely knew us on our return to Imladris."

The three men laughed and then hugged. It had indeed been a long time since the twins had been to Minas Tirith—they had not returned since they had left with their father. "Come, let us get out of the cold. I will call for hot wine and something to ease your hunger after a long journey."

"Ah, I see your manners are finally returning," Elladan jested.

"On second thought Elrohir, why don't we leave this one out in the cold a while longer?"

They were still laughing and teasing each other when they entered the palace. "Do not forget I was there when you learned how to hold a sword," Elladan said with an air of superiority.

The sound of a woman's laughter filled the entrance hall and all three men looked around in surprise. When he realized it was Olwen, shock froze Aragorn to the spot. She mistook his still face for displeasure and sought to school her features into one of apology, though mirth still shone in her eyes. "I am sorry my lord, but it is too amusing to see someone so capable of putting you in your place."

Aragorn's eyes widened. "Do you really think so my lady?" he asked, switching deliberately from Elvish to the Common Tongue.

She smiled freely now. "I do."

"Do you think my so proud then?" he asked in Adûnaic.

"No of course not…" Her voice trailed off when she realized what he was doing. "Did I just… what language were you speaking, my lords?"

Aragorn answered. "Elvish, my lady—the first language any of us remember hearing."

She blanched. He feared for a second that she might pass out, but she quickly hid her shock with a smile. "Greetings, my lords," she said to the twins. "Allow me to introduce myself, since it seems the king will not. I am Lady Olwen." She curtsied so low that her hair brushed the stone floor. 

Elrohir sighed dramatically. "Aye, my lady. We were just commenting on how far Aragorn's manners have slipped. I assure you, our father taught him better."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. _Can he never be serious? _"I beg your pardon, Lady Olwen. These are my brothers, Elladan and Elrohir."

If her smile was strained, no one noticed but Aragorn. "I will leave the three of you to your reunion then." He knew this most recent revelation had unsettled her, so he let her go without protest.

When she was out of earshot, both brothers turned to Aragorn. "What was that all about?"

"Yes, you seemed surprised to learn she could understand our tongue. I thought it was still spoken by many of your nobles."

Aragorn stared at her departing figure. "I will tell you once we have been served. Let us take this conversation to the library."

Ten minutes later when they all held goblets of warm spiced wine, Elrohir asked again. "Tell us about Lady Olwen, Estel. Who is she, and why were you so surprised this afternoon?"

Aragorn took a sip of his wine and let the spices dance on his tongue.. "I cannot answer the first question, no one can. Even the lady herself does not know. Faramir and I found her alone on the mountain two months ago with no memories of her past save her name."

Elrohir raised an eyebrow in a gesture so reminiscent of Elrond that Aragorn was forced to repress a wave of grief. "And you brought her here?"

He set his goblet down and leaned back in his chair. He could hear the unasked question, and he remembered a day only two months earlier when Olwen had stood in almost the exact same spot and asked the same thing—did he consider her a threat to Gondor? "I could not simply leave her there alone with no food or shelter."

Both twins nodded in agreement. "But that does not answer the second question."

He pursed his lips and sought the best way to explain the surprise Olwen had given him that afternoon. "Her memory of learned skills returns… in a rather unusual manner. If I had asked her that first morning if she knew how to ride a horse, she would not have been able to answer me, but when she saw a horse later that day, she mounted with ease and rode as if she had been born in the saddle."

Elladan understood first. "You mean to say _she_ did not even know she spoke our language until this afternoon."

"Precisely."

He whistled low. "I understand your shock then."

"As intriguing as this is," Elrohir interrupted, "what interests me most is the way she teased you, brother. I was glad to see you had someone here in Minas Tirith to keep you in check."

Twin expressions of mischief turned to Aragorn, and he groaned. His brother's comments on the nature of his relationship with Olwen had made him uneasy, for he realized he did not know how to explain what they saw. "Trust me, Elrohir, the responsibilities of being king are enough to keep me humble."

Both twins settled back into their chairs, all hints of teasing gone. "Tell us what has been happening in your kingdom, Aragorn. We have heard bits and pieces of news in our travels, but I know there is always more that the people do not see."

Aragorn sighed. "Reuniting the two halves of my kingdom has proven more difficult than I thought it might be. Some of my nobles are reticent to accept their northern brothers."

Change does not come easily. Will any truly balk when the day comes?"

"I do not believe so, but I weary of the constant infighting. If that was not enough, Faramir pressed me to negotiate treaties with Harad. I will not give quarter to anyone who allied themselves with the Black Tower and the Orcs of Mordor."

His brothers nodded, and Aragorn knew from the set of their jaws that they agreed. "We have tracked and killed the last that fled north of the Misty Mountains," Elladan said.

"And my men have likewise killed as many as they could find. If any remain, they live within the mountains themselves.

The brothers shared a look of grim satisfaction, and then Aragorn caught sight of a clock. "I believe it is time for dinner," he said.

The comment broke the tension that had built with the mention of Orcs. "I was wondering when you would notice," Elladan jibed.

When they arrived, their companions were already in attendance. "I hope we have not kept you waiting long."

"Only a few minutes, my lord," Olwen responded. "The servants have not yet entered."

Aragorn noted with some surprise that his table was full. _I have not had this many dinner companions in many months._ To his even greater surprise, he enjoyed it.

After they had all filled their plates, Elladan posed a question to Olwen. "Lady Olwen, does he actually make you call him 'my lord'?" He turned to Aragorn with a comically drawn expression of reproach. "Shall I tell her what happened the last time you asked me to call you my lord, little one?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes at the diminutive title his brothers had given him when he was but a lad chasing them around Imladris. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his Steward start and he knew the other man would be surprised by the familiar way his family spoke of him. "Nay, that is not necessary Elrohir."

"It is simply the correct thing to do, Elrohir," Legolas said. "Not that any of us would expect you to understand correct behavior."

They all laughed at that, Elladan the most. "It seems your fine clothes have not fooled anyone, my brother."

Elrohir's scowl soon faded into a smile that made Aragorn extremely wary. "I am still not convinced… Lady Olwen, would you like to hear the story?"

She looked at him, and though he tried to keep his expression inscrutable, her mischievous grin told him he had failed. "I think I would."

Elrohir rubbed his hands together and Aragorn groaned. His brothers had never hesitated to tease him, and with a new audience for their stories, they would be impossible to restrain. Even Faramir leaned forward slightly, eager to hear the tale.

"Aragorn overheard one of our guests call Ada 'my lord' and he informed us the next day that we should also refer to him as such—those were his words, Lady Olwen."

Warmth crept up beneath his collar. "What he leaves out is that I was but six years old at the time."

She laughed merrily, and all embarrassment was forgotten. "And the terror of Imladris I've no doubt," she retorted. He shrugged, neither admitting nor denying guilt, and she laughed again.

"Very true, my lady. I told him that only those who could mount Glorfindel's beast of a horse deserved the title."

Olwen's eyes widened. "And you believed him?"

"It seemed perfectly logical to me, since the only other person I had heard called my lord was Glorfindel himself."

"And he was going to ask Glorfindel, but I told him a true lord never asks anyone for permission. I admit, he had more nerve than I thought. He was trying to saddle that giant of a horse by himself when Ada and Glorfindel walked into the stable together."

Aragorn watched with fascination as humor and sympathy warred in Olwen's expression. Sympathy finally won and she asked, "Did they punish you badly?"

"The worst a six year old boy could imagine," Aragorn said. "They were there to pick out a horse for my birthday present. When they found me, they told me I was not old enough yet and made me wait another six months. I was forbidden to go inside the stable in that time."

"I am sure you found other forms of mischief," Olwen said. Humor flared again and he grinned back at her.

Before anyone could jump in with another story, he turned the tables on his brothers. For the rest of the dinner, the three attempted to out-do the others when it came to telling embarrassing tales. Finally though the evening had to end, and they parted reluctantly.

Minas Tirith seemed more alive with Elladan and Elrohir present. The two were gifted strategists and Aragorn spent many hours discussing the delicate political balance with them. Together with Legolas and Faramir, they rode out to the villages and settlements within the Rammas, seeking the mood and will of the people.

It was the first time in many months that Aragorn had taken time to visit with his people, and he was humbled when he realized as he listened to them that Olwen and Éowyn had been taking better care of their needs then he had. But for the first time since he lost Arwen, he did not feel like he needed to cut the entire world off.

Dinners with the ladies were spirited affairs, and after a few weeks, he wondered how he could possibly have been content to eat in quiet and solitude for so long. _It is good to be with people again,_ he realized.

One evening in early February, Aragorn looked around at his friends after the dinner dishes were cleared and saw that no one was willing to go to bed yet. "Why don't we move to one of the parlors? I believe we could be more comfortable there."

"And perhaps someone could bring us a flagon of that lovely spiced wine?" Olwen suggested.

"I will see to it," Aragorn promised. Faramir led the company down the corridor to one of the private parlors, and Aragorn joined them a few minutes later, wine in hand.

He could hear the laughter before he even opened the door. He entered the room and found Olwen at the center of the group. From the way everyone stifled their merriment when he walked in, he could easily guess who had been the subject of her story. Aragorn poured the wine before speaking, enjoying the guilty expression on her face. "I see you are telling tales again, Lady Olwen."

She arched one eyebrow and he barely managed to hold his expression of disapproval. "I only tell the truth, my lord."

He rolled his eyes and his friends all laughed again. Ever since she had heard Elrohir's story, Olwen had insisted on calling him "my lord" with that same pert expression. "Some kings are given respect by their subjects," he said to no one.

Elladan snorted. "Ah, but at least we two are not your subjects, nor is Legolas yet."

"And I assure you my lord," Faramir said, "I hold you in the highest respect." The utter solemnity with which this was uttered earned more laughter than anything else.

"Yes yes, let us all enjoy the fine Gondorian wine that I procured while you were all laughing at me."

They settled into quiet conversation, and Aragorn sipped his wine and simply enjoyed the moment. Éowyn and Olwen sat in the corner discussing the needs of the people as winter deepened. Each woman alone had a kind heart, but together he had seen that kindness turn to a wave of compassion for Gondor's less fortunate.

Legolas and Faramir continued a conversation they had started earlier on how best to restore Ithilien. Faramir and Éowyn planned to leave for Emyn Arnen in the spring, and they had invited Legolas to join them for a time. _Together, they will make those once verdant woodlands thrive once more_.

He turned to his brothers and found them look at him expectantly. "Could we have a word in private, Estel?"

Aragorn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. From the tone of their request, he could tell that whatever they wished to discuss was serious in nature. He nodded his acquiescence, and they all made their excuses to the others.

The twins led the way out into the courtyard. Above, the moon shone brightly and Aragorn fixed his gaze there rather than on the White Tree, which seemed to glow under the pale light. "Is there any reason we need to talk in the cold?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Elrohir place a hand on one of the lower branches. "Ada told us of the vision he had regarding this blossom," Elrohir said.

Aragorn fought to keep his expression neutral. "Did he?"

Elladan nodded. "We admit we did not like the thought at first—it was hard for us to accept you would one day marry when Arwen…" He cleared his throat. "But our feelings on the subject have changed in the time we have spent in Minas Tirith."

Aragorn finally looked at the tree, silhouetted in the moonlight. The blossom mocked him, and this mention of Arwen only made him morose. _Until you can let go of the past… _"I am not sure I understand why."

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, and Aragorn recognized the expression of confusion that passed between them. "We refer to Lady Olwen of course," Elrohir said hesitantly. This clarified their statement not a bit, so Aragorn waited and after a minute the twins started speaking as one, tripping over their words.

"We understand that you cannot…"

"We know you must marry to produce an heir…"

"And we are glad to see…"

"…that you are smiling again."

"So we wanted you to know…"

"…that we approve of your choice," Elrohir finished.

A glimmer of their meaning occurred to him, and he narrowed his brows. "Am I to understand that you believe me to have tender feelings for Lady Olwen?"

They both sighed in relief. "Aye. We understand your need to take a bride, and though we are grieved for Arwen…"

"We are happy you have found love again."

This second mention of Arwen threw Aragorn, and it was a moment before he trusted himself to reply and when he did, his voice was frigid. "The only reason I brought Olwen into my house was from a sense of duty. The _only _reason. Is that clear?" He glared at first one then the other. "While the lady is pleasant enough to be with, my only concern in her life is to help her find her family."

The twins exchanged glances. Aragorn tapped his foot impatiently while he waited for one of them to speak, and finally Elladan said, "Estel, we understand more than anyone how difficult these last three years have been, but as much as we wish Arwen could come back, it will not happen. You cannot close yourself off to happiness—is that not what Ada tried to tell you?"

Anger choked any reply Aragorn might have made. He shot them both a glare that would have killed an Orc at twenty paces and then shoved past them. He stalked through the quite palace, and when he reached his room he slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled.

For several minutes, he could hear nothing but a loud ringing in his ears. Slowly, he became aware of the harsh sound of his breathing and the crackle of wood burning in the fireplace. _How could they insinuate… _His fingers flexed at his sides, and then with a growl he walked toward the balcony door and tore the curtains open. He threw the door open, barely remembering in time to catch it so the glass would not break.

Out on the balcony he took a deep breath of the cool night air and slowly felt some of his control return. Once his anger diminished he was not surprised to find his strongest emotion was sorrow of a kind he had not allowed himself to feel for three years. "Arwen, why did you leave me?" Tears he had long denied sprang to the surface and for the first time he allowed them to fall, head bowed beneath the weight of his grief.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: The King's Decision**

Aragorn was halfway to the garden the next morning before he realized what he was doing. He cursed under his breath. _My days are too tied to Olwen._ After a moment of hesitation, he turned toward the stables and saddled his horse. With the wind in his face, he rode across the Pelennor. The sun crested over the horizon just as he reached the Anduin, turning the water varied shades of red and gold.

He knelt and dipped his hands in the shallows near the bank. Even here, the water moved swiftly through his fingers. _I thought you were constant, that you never changed, and yet you never stop moving. _He tossed a stick in the water and watched until it had drifted out of sight. _You will carry that twig all the way past Pelargrir and out to the sea._

"By the Valar, I do not know how to do it!" he exclaimed. "How can I accept that I must one day marry and yet remain faithful to Arwen?" He recalled his brothers' words and his anger stirred anew. "How could they suggest such a thing? Ada waited 500 years to be reunited with their mother; do they think I am incapable of such faithfulness? It matters not that I will never see Arwen again; I would still rather hold to the memory of something that was perfect than taint it by settling for something less."

The stick drifted out of sight around a bend in the river, and he turned back to the city. Many years it had stood here, and yet it too had changed. The gates Gimli had promised him would be beautiful, but they would not be the same ones that had stood there for 3000 years.

The possibility that change was not necessarily bad startled him, and he drew his mind back once again to the previous night. _Are you more upset that they reminded you of Arwen's absence, of that they believed you care for Olwen? _Last night he had grieved, but now… Unbidden, memories of the last two months came to him—early mornings with Olwen, intimate dinners with just her, Faramir, and Éowyn, conversation where he revealed far more of his personal life than any other inhabitant of the city knew. "Though their conclusions were wrong, perhaps they were understandable," he reluctantly acknowledged.

He felt the reins pull in his hand and looked up at his horse. The animal was tossing his head, clearly anxious to be moving again. "All right, we'll go back."

As the miles melted away, a new concern arose. Suppose Elladan and Elrohir were not the only ones who mistakenly inferred more from his actions. What if the lady herself believed he cared for her? _Have I misled her?_ He remembered the pain he had felt when Éowyn hoped for more than he could give, and he knew he would need to be clearer in his intentions. _For she is too kind a lady to have her feelings trifled with._

He rode through the quiet streets of Minas Tirith, in no hurry to return to his duties. The happiness he had felt in the previous weeks had evaporated, leaving him feeling drained and let down. When he dismounted outside the stables, a stable hand was there to take his horse but he waved him aside. The slow, rhythmic strokes of brush against flesh centered his thoughts and by the time he was done, he was ready for whatever new surprises the day might bring.

Those surprises came more quickly than he had anticipated, for rather than the solitude he had hoped for, just inside the courtyard he met the one person he most wished to avoid. "Good morning, my lord," Olwen said. "I missed your company this morning."

He saw her smile, heard the simple way she assumed he would share the morning hour with her, and his heart sank. _Why did I not see before how my actions might be taken?_ he berated himself. He raised one brow, attempting a haughty manner that was unfamiliar to him. "I must beg leave, my lady, to spend my time in whatever manner I wish. There are many duties calling on my time, and I do not always have time to linger over such… frivolities."

Her smile did not waver, but her grey eyes lost all their warmth. "I do apologize, Your Highness, if you feel our conversations have pulled you from your duties. I shall not linger, for I am certain you have something important to do." A quick curtsey and then she was gone, leaving Aragorn staring after her, unsure of what had just happened.

He looked at her quickly retreating figure and shook his head. _That did not exactly go as I had anticipated,_ he thought as he climbed the tower stairs. His stomach protested the lack of breakfast, but between Olwen and his brothers, there were too many people in the palace he would rather avoid.

His lunch plans were interrupted by the regional concerns of a minor noble and then a meeting with Faramir kept him from finding food in the afternoon. When dinner time arrived, his hunger easily overrode his ambiguous feelings toward most of his guests, and he set off for the dining room at a quick pace.

Everyone else was already seated when he arrived. He nodded to the footman and then took his usual spot at the head of the table. Elladan was on his right, so he turned to Faramir on his left. "Have you had time to go over the proposal from the nobility?" The few nobles who remained in Minas Tirith over the winter did so to direct his attention toward their own interests; Faramir sorted through the petitions before they reached Aragorn.

Faramir drew his brows together and Aragorn realized it had been many weeks since they had discussed a matter of state at the dinner table. "Yes, Your Highness. I have some ready for you to look at it. If you would like, I can get them for you after our meal."

Aragorn nodded curtly. "I believe I will look them over tonight."

He felt the sudden shift in atmosphere and knew his meaning had been taken. "You will not be joining us for wine and conversation tonight, Aragorn?"

Before he could form a reply, someone else spoke. "You will have to excuse the king, Legolas. He has many concerns pressing on him and he cannot always spend his time as he would like."

Aragorn stared at Olwen and was shocked by the challenge he saw in her eyes. _Is she angry with me? _He had expected her to be hurt by his words, or possibly embarrassed if she had believed he cared for her. When she stuck her chin out an extra fraction of an inch he knew she was indeed angry, and he did not know what that could possibly mean.

He thought back to their encounter that morning and saw the warmth disappear from her eyes. _Of course she was angry—you were rude. _He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His conscience had always spoken with the voice of Elrond, and that was most disconcerting at times.

He saw his actions through her eyes, and he realized he deserved her anger. Still, he was unsure what to do. Courtesy demanded he apologize, but some self-protective instinct told him he had achieved his goal, no matter what his methods had been. Olwen certainly could not mistake his actions for courtship any longer. _And her anger keeps her from desiring my attentions._

He was suddenly aware everyone at the table was watching them. Faramir and Éowyn exchanged a frown, but his brothers… his temper rose to a slow boil when he recognized their satisfaction. "I am afraid Olwen is correct," he said. "I have recently been reminded of the pressing duties of the Crown."

Elladan cleared his throat and busied himself with his food, but Elrohir met his stare with a raised eyebrow and sardonic grin. _Of all the…_ Aragorn viciously attacked the meat on his plate, Elrohir's face in mind as he tore it to shreds.

The party fell into an awkward silence, punctuated only by the clatter of utensils and quiet requests for more food. Aragorn did not look up from his plate until he heard a chair scrape against the floor.

He was not surprised Olwen was the first to stand. "I too need to beg off our usual evening entertainment, though I do not have nearly as good an excuse as my lord Aragorn. Unfortunately, late nights and early mornings have caught up with me and I find I am in sore need of extra rest."

For the first time since he had met her, Aragorn was absolutely sure Olwen was not telling the entire truth. He willed her to look at him, but if she heard his silent command she steadfastly ignored it.

Legolas rose from his seat beside her. "May I walk you to your chamber?" She smiled and took the arm he offered and they left the room together.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Veiling of the Sun**

"Of all the rude, condescending… It is not as if fifteen minutes out of each day could truly be the kind of imposition he implied they were!"

Olwen reached one wall of her room, turned, and walked in the opposite direction. She had been pacing the floor and fuming over Aragorn's behavior for hours now, and her anger was no less vivid than it had been when she left him at dinner. She remembered the confusion on his face just before she walked away and felt a stab of vicious pleasure.

One thought repeatedly tried to push its way through her anger, and finally she was not able to shove it away. _You would not be so upset if his words had not hurt,_ it whispered. _What truly bothers you is the implication that being with you is a waste of time._

The words rang true, and she sank into the closest chair. "What would have made him say such a thing?" she wondered. "He is not usually so cold—at least he has not been of late."

She traced the brocade pattern on the chair with her fingers for a few minutes, trying to make sense of the king's strange actions. The repetitious action grounded her thoughts and her anger soon faded away. Able to think clearly for the first time since her conversation with Aragorn that morning, an answer soon presented itself—he had somehow become aware of her feelings and wished her to know he did not share them.

Her eyes snapped shut and she sagged against the back of the chair. She remembered his unease at dinner, his uncharacteristic haughtiness, and she knew she was right.

She lay in bed for a few extra minutes the next morning, at first uncertain if she wanted to watch the sunrise. The time and place were now more associated with Aragorn than anything or anyone else. _Will it be the same without him?_

In the end, habit forced her to go but her hesitation nearly caused her to miss the sunrise. When she reached the garden wall she was slightly out of breath from her unladylike dash across the courtyard. The clouds hung low over the city this morning, and Olwen was not even sure of the exact moment when the sun truly rose. When the light changed from silver to grey she sighed and turned away.

_You are being silly, Olwen,_ she chided herself. _How many grey mornings did you share with Aragorn? It is February, you cannot expect clear skies everyday. _But she knew part of the greyness came from her own upset, and she knew she would not return. Even the sunrise had lost its appeal.

When Éowyn came to her that afternoon and suggested a ride, she eagerly agreed. "I confess, the walls have been close round me today," she told her friend when they were out on the open plain of the Pelennor.

"You seemed unusually tense at dinner last night," Éowyn observed.

Olwen's horse shifted beneath her and she relaxed her grip on the reins. "Did I?"

"Yes, even Faramir commented on it when we were alone later." Olwen shrugged, but Éowyn would not be put off. "My lady… Olwen, I would like to think we are friends."

Éowyn's uncertainty broke through Olwen's own disquiet. "We are, my lady!"

"And do friends not share confidences? I am not much used to having a female friend," she admitted and laughed, "but I am sure I heard this somewhere."

Olwen sighed. _How can I possibly explain what bothers me, when I do not truly know myself?_ "Have you never borne a hurt that was too deep to share?"

Éowyn did not reply immediately. _Have I said too much? What is she thinking?_ She stared straight ahead, not wanting to see what thoughts might be going through her friend's mind.

"Olwen."

She heard her name, knew Éowyn wished to speak with her, but could not move. A moment later she felt hands covering her own as Éowyn reached for the reins and pulled both of their horses to a halt.

As if all her energy had been gained through the movement of the animal beneath her, Olwen slumped forward. She felt Éowyn's hand on her back and knew the other woman was trying to offer support, but she did not know how to accept it.

"Does your memory loss still trouble you so much?" Éowyn asked a minute later.

The words caught Olwen completely by surprise, as did the pain they caused. _I thought this was in the past…_ She nodded and blinked back tears. "Can you not understand why, Éowyn? You know your history, both good and bad. You know what made you, and so you understand yourself."

Éowyn nodded with a faraway look in her eyes, and Olwen knew she was remembering important moments in her past. Jealousy choked her for a moment and she had to swallow before she could continue. "I know none of that. I know I ride, but I do not know who taught me. I know I speak three languages, but I cannot explain why. Everything that might tell me who I am is lost."

Éowyn's eyes widened, and for the first time since she had arrived in Minas Tirith Olwen felt like someone truly understood her pain. "Does nothing seem familiar?"

She shifted in her saddle to take in her surroundings, as if the veil on her memories would suddenly life and she would recognize something. The Great River twinkled on her right and behind her the White City rose above the plain. She knew them now, but… "Familiar, no. These last few months in Minas Tirith have felt right, but that could easily be because it is all I know."

Éowyn pursed her lips. "It need not remain so."

"What do you mean?"

Éowyn moved the reins from one hand to the other and effortlessly directed her mount back toward the city. "Faramir and I will finally be leaving for Ithilien in the spring. If the walls of Minas Tirith still seem more of a cage when we leave, you are welcome to join us."

The offer of a home outside of Minas Tirith opened a world to Olwen, and yet there was a part of her heart that warned her she would never feel at home anywhere else. "I am not sure," she answered finally.

"You have many weeks yet to decide," Éowyn assure her. "In truth, the people of Gondor would miss you greatly. They have come to love you as their lady—though I guess they will have someone new when King Elessar marries."

Cold hands clutched Olwen's heart. "I was not aware the king intended to marry."

Éowyn laughed. "Oh, he does not. His nobles intend it for him. Faramir tells me they have been subtly pushing for a Queen to bear the next King of Gondor for many months. Of course that is why Vénea has wintered with us."

"Of course," Olwen said through numb lips.

The rest of their ride passed in a haze for Olwen. Finally she was alone in her room with an hour to spare before dinner.

There was a fire burning, and she curled up in the large chair in front of it. _Aragorn and Vénea!_ Her few interactions with the woman had left her with the impression that she was as vain as she was beautiful. _Why would Aragorn choose her over me, if choose he must?_

The answer came to her in a flash. For all her short-comings, Vénea had the bloodlines necessary to bear a child who would wear the Crown of Men. Olwen's eyes drifted shut and she allowed herself to imagine for just one moment that she was Aragorn's wife. She pictured him bent over explaining something to their son with that intense look in his eyes that she loved so much.

A rumble in her belly cut through her musings, and blinked back a few tears. _It is nearly dinner time, and I have not changed out of my riding clothes._ She had just finished dressing when a familiar voice called, "Lady Olwen, may I escort you to supper?"

She smiled briefly—despite her protests that she was perfectly able to walk the short distance to the dining parlor on her own, Legolas remained insistent that a lady should have an escort for the meal, and in truth she enjoyed the chivalry behind the gesture.

With one final appraisal of her appearance in the mirror, she opened the door. "Thank you, Legolas," she said, taking the arm he offered.

She held her breath when they approached the dining room, but Aragorn was not there. _Good—at least I have some time to enjoy the conversation before he arrives. _But instead Faramir immediately signaled for the footman to begin bringing the food. "Should we not wait for the king?"

The twins glanced at each other and she realized the truth before Elladan spoke. "Aragorn sends his regrets, there are many nobles requesting some of his time. He will be dining with them in the evenings to discuss various affairs of state."

From the moment she had met the twins, she had possessed an uncanny ability to tell when they were obscuring the truth. She looked at them now and recognized the secret in their eyes. She did not doubt that Aragorn was indeed dining in the state dining hall tonight, or that he had done so to meet with his nobles, but she knew there was more than what they were saying.

_Why would he go to such lengths to avoid me? Surely… _Then she remembered that Vénea would be dining with her father. _Perhaps he wishes to become better acquainted with one more suited to the throne of Gondor. _She forced her smile to stay in place. "We will simply have to enjoy this fine food without him then."

She spotted the tension lines on their foreheads and knew they could see through her just as easily as she could them. She smiled brightly and changed the subject. "Faramir, Éowyn told me of your plans to leave for Ithilien this spring. Tell me, what is that country like."

She could not have chosen a better topic Faramir set his goblet down and leaned forward slightly, and excited gleam in his eyes. "The green hills you see when you look across the river are the Emyn Arnen. We will make our home there among the trees and vales, and soon farmers will spread out in the fertile land below us. Ithilien was once the garden of Gondor, and soon it will be once more."

Legolas interjected with a question, and Olwen quietly sat back and ignored them all. Aragorn's empty seat mocked her from across the table, and she found she had no appetite. Still, she choked down enough to avoid notice—or so she thought.

"Lady Olwen, are you not hungry?"

"Hmmm?" She looked up at Elladan and saw the concern in his eyes. "I fear I ate too much at tea and ruined my supper," she lied.

He raised an eyebrow but did not contradict her. "Will you join us in the parlor this evening?"

She shook her head. "Again, I must decline."

The twins rose when she did. "May we escort you to your room then, my lady?"

Although she knew she did not want to hear what they had to say, she could see the determination in their eyes and knew they would not accept her refusal. "Very well." Rather than take either arm offered her, she walked slightly ahead of the brothers, forcing them to follow and avoiding any conversation they might want to have.

Before she could retreat into her room, Elrohir took a quick step and placed himself in front of the door. "Lady Olwen, I pray we are not intruding too far into your personal affairs, but my brother and I wish to apologize." She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "We spoke with Aragorn earlier this week, and… he did not care for our interference. I fear…"

He looked to Elladan, who finished the thought. "We are sorry if the changes in his behavior have hurt you."

She took in the way they both shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. _They look as if they would rather walk across hot coals than have this conversation._ Her amusement quickly faded to anger when she realized what they must mean. _This is what they spoke to Aragorn about the other night. They told him I care for him… did they tell him to discourage me?_

She narrowed her eyes and glared at them both. After a moment they dropped their gazes and rubbed the backs of their necks in identical motions. Then, in a voice colder than the snows of Caradhras, she said, "I am afraid I do not comprehend your meaning."

Angry as she was, she was still impressed by the speed with which they schooled their features into formal impassivity. "We are sorry, my lady, if we intruded unnecessarily." She gave them a curt nod then retreated inside her room without saying good night.

Once the door was shut, the full import of their words sank in. They had told Aragorn that she cared for him, and his response had been to back away. She had suspected that her feelings had become known to him and she had guessed that was why he avoided her—why then did it hurt so much to have that confirmed?

Her chest tightened and her vision blurred. She wiped the tears away impatiently and moved quickly to draw the curtains, stumbling and almost tripping over a rug in her haste to shut out the world. Though it was dark outside, she felt exposed, as if all of Gondor or at least Minas Tirith knew exactly how she felt about their king.

Once she was secure in her privacy, she prepared for bed. The ache in her heart made her weary, and she longed to return to the kinder world of her dreams. It was with a feeling of relief that she pulled the covers back and laid down, but she quickly found this would be no refuge.

When she closed her eyes, instead of falling into the blissful abyss of sleep, she saw again the expression on Aragorn's face when he had said spending time with her was a frivolity he could no longer afford. A single tear tracked down her cheek, leaving a damp spot on her pillow.

She choked back the rest of her tears, and finally sleep claimed her. Even this offered no respite for her however, for once again her slumber was troubled with dreams of people and places she did not know. All around her were figures reaching out to her, begging her to remember, to love them once more. Now however there was an additional face hidden by the mist, one whose identity she was certain of—Aragorn.


	14. Chapter 13

**AN:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I love opening my email on Saturday morning to find 3 or 4 comments from you—it really makes my day.

**Chapter Thirteen: Where Once Was Love**

Aragorn's decision to dine with the court was more about his brothers than Olwen. He knew from their attitude at dinner the previous night that they still believed him in love with Olwen. Many times when he was a youth, Elladan and Elrohir had delighted in reminding him that as his much wiser and more experienced older brothers, they knew what was best. It had been annoying when he was twenty; it was infuriating now that he was ninety.

But now as he looked at the richly carved doors that led to the state banqueting hall, he wondered if perhaps he had been hasty. The voices and laughter he heard from behind the doors reminded him why he had stopped joining the court for meal—the conversation had been inane and the manners obsequious.

_Tis too late to turn back._ He nodded to the footmen and they threw the doors open. "His Royal Highness King Elessar!" the seneschal announced.

The clatter of the meal died instantly and the entire assemblage rose to their feet. Aragorn nodded to people as he walked down the long room to the place reserved for the King at the head table. Only when he was seated did everyone else sit down, but even then they did not speak. "Please," he said, "I am sure you were all engaged in conversation before I arrived. Pray continue."

The nobles let out a collective breath. He looked then to see who was sitting at his table and nearly groaned. _Tarondor and Vénea!_

The gleam in Tarondor's eye put Aragorn immediately on edge. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Your Highness," Tarondor said.

"Indeed sire. I thought you said you rarely dined with the Court." Vénea smiled, and for the first time in many years, Aragorn felt woefully out of his depth. Life as a warrior had not trained him to deal with a determined woman, and he had lost his to heart Arwen before he had truly given thought to learning.

"As the winter comes to an end, I thought I should learn more of what concerns my people in the coming year." This was half-true: It was nearly February and the full court would return to Minas Tirith in April. If he wished to get through the pile of requests Faramir had given him the previous night, he would need to devote more time to work and less to his own enjoyment.

Vénea bowed her head slightly. "Again, you honor us King Elessar."

_If I am obligated to be here, I should use the time wisely. _Aragorn offered the woman a polite smile then turned to her father. "Tarondor, you mentioned border concerns to my lord Steward. Could you elaborate on those please?"

Tarondor blinked and fidgeted with his knife before answering. "Yes of course Your Highness. As you know, my lands are in the northernmost reaches of Gondor, against the former border with Arnor."

He hesitated, and Aragorn understood for the first time why he had been so reticent regarding the reunification with the northern kingdom. "And you are concerned that when we are reunited with Arnor, the claim on your land might be disputed."

It was a statement not a question, but Tarondor nodded nonetheless. "I have tenants working fields that might legitimately belong to a noble of Arnor, should one come forth and claim the land. These people depend on me for their well-being, and I would like to assure them their livelihood will not be interrupted."

"Is this why you have fought against the reunited kingdom?" Tarondor nodded. "You may tell your people that no one will force them to move against their will. What is more, Tarondor, you should remind them that the well-being of every citizen in both Gondor and Arnor now rests on the shoulders of the king. You need not carry that burden any longer."

Aragorn returned Tarondor's smile, _If I had listened to his concerns two years ago rather than ignoring him, I might have gained a powerful ally._ The thought led him to make an offer he would later regret. "I hope you and your daughter will continue to sit at my table," he offered. "I sense you and I might be more similar than we had first believed."

The next morning, Aragorn rose before the dawn and watched the sun come up from his own balcony. Olwen's enjoyment from this simple act had truly become his own, but he was uncomfortably aware that as he watched Anor's progress over the horizon, he also scanned the garden and courtyard for Olwen. She was not in her usual place by the garden wall, however, and he did not find her along the streets either. _Where is she?_ When the sun was fully risen and the hour of dawn had passed with no appearance from Olwen, he realized she had not come at all.

He drew back from the window, a frown on his face. _Those mornings meant to much for her to abandon lightly._ He sighed, for the answer was obvious. His heart ached with the knowledge that he had tarnished something she had found so much pleasure in.

_Perhaps if I offer just a word of apology, she might be happy again. _The idea wormed its way into his consciousness and he grabbed it before he could consider its wisdom. He dressed quickly and left his room with the intent of finding Olwen at breakfast. _Perhaps if I offer just a word of apology, she might be happy again._

But when he opened his door, he was greeted instead by someone else. "Lady Vénea!"

"Good morning, Your Highness. Would you care to join me—if you are going to the breakfast room as well, that is?"

"I am afraid not, my lady. I break my fast with Lord Faramir every morning."

Vénea smiled and dropped a curtsy, and Aragorn was forced to abandon his intentions to find Olwen and join Faramir post-haste. His wish to catch Olwen later in the day was denied; the nobles were emboldened by his appearance the night before and he was forced to remain in the small audience chamber for most of the day, hearing their concerns. Over and over again he realized how much of the daily life in Gondor he had missed. "How did I not know any of this?" he asked Faramir when they broke for luncheon.

"I have told you all of these things before, my lord," Faramir said quietly.

Though there was no hint of censure or accusation in his tone or expression, Aragorn felt the weight of guilt. "I did not hear it," he murmured.

"But you are listening now," Faramir countered, his expression open and earnest. "My lord—Aragorn—you have not been a bad king. You have done many good things for the people. They would love you for your part in the destruction of the Shadow even if you never did a single thing more."

Aragorn shook his head. The most recent discovery was still on his mind and he could not be so forgiving of himself. A noble from Anórien had sought aid; the Anduin had overrun its banks in the fall floods and people had been driven from their homes. _I should have known this. _"You are being more gracious than I deserve, Faramir. I shut my people out."

"You grieved, my lord."

Aragorn looked at him sharply. "You knew?"

Faramir sighed. "My lord Aragorn, you are not the only man who lost someone you love. Did I not lose my brother and father? I could see the sorrow you withheld and knew that when you let it go, you would be the king I had long hoped to serve."

Aragorn grunted. "I have taken my time getting there."

"But I never doubted you would," Faramir said with a smile.

Such faith humbled Aragorn, especially when his own guilt was still sharp. _Elrond told me this would be the result of burying my grief and I did not listen. How much trust has been lost with my people, with my councilors, because I closed myself off from everything?_

After a short moment of shame, he straightened. "Who are we to see next?"

When he finally finished with his audiences, he barely had time to return to his chamber and dress for dinner. Tarondor again proved to be a worthy dinner companion, and even Vénea rose in his estimation when she offered a concise opinion on the reacquisition of South Gondor.

But all the activity of the day had afforded him no time to seek out Olwen. He chafed at the delay. _I will find her tomorrow._

However, when Aragorn passed Olwen in the corridor the next day, she walked by without so much as looking at him. It was the second time in a week that she had left him standing with his mouth open, and he could not deny a slight hint of irritation. _What would you have said, had she stopped?_ he asked himself. _Is it not better that we ignore each other now? I cannot hurt her further if we do not speak._

His desire to reassure her diminished, he resolved once more to think no more of her. This was easier said than done however, for every day it seemed brought new reminders of her. One day a noble petitioned for resources to succor the poor and he remembered how Olwen had championed their cause before him. He and Faramir took and afternoon and visited the people of the Pelennor, and they could not stop praising Olwen and Éowyn for all they'd done for them.

The poor were not the only ones who held the ladies in high admiration. In the Master Warden's regular report to the King, the man mentioned the work both had done in the Houses of Healing; indeed, he spoke of them in terms so glowing he knew they would blush to hear it.

If he could not avoid thoughts of Olwen, he could likewise not avoid Vénea's presence. Any time he had a moment to himself, she appeared. He was not sure which bothered him more until one afternoon about two weeks after his first dinner with the nobles.

He and Faramir were taking advantage of a rare lull in the proceedings to discuss the treaty with Harad when the footman at the door knocked to let them know someone approached. The men exchanged puzzled looks, but Faramir took his traditional place to the side and behind Aragorn's seat.

The door opened and Vénea walked to the end of the runner and dropped into a deep curtsey. When she rose, Aragorn said, "My lady, is there something I can do for you?"

She smiled prettily. "Oh no, Your Highness. I simply wondered if I could bring you any refreshments."

Aragorn had not thought he was capable of surprise, but the lady proved him wrong. "Refreshments?"

She nodded. "I know how weary this work can make you. I thought you might like a pot of tea—or perhaps something stronger."

Faramir coughed, but Aragorn was more bewildered than amused. "I thank you for your concern, Lady Vénea, but that is not necessary."

Her dimples disappeared and reappeared in a coquettish smile. "Very well. I will see you at dinner, Your Highness." Another curtsey and she was gone.

Faramir waited until she had left the room to laugh. "I see you were right about her intentions."

Aragorn dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "You cannot imagine! She is everywhere! I begin to suspect she lies in wait outside my room every morning just so she may walk me to breakfast. I cannot understand why she is suddenly behaving thusly."

"I believe, my lord, that she took your change in dining habits as an invitation."

"You must be right, but I cannot stop now. Tarondor would be offended; all the work I have put into mending that relationship would be lost."

Faramir tilted his head. "May I ask a question, my lord?"

Aragorn waved his hand impatiently. "Faramir, you know you need not ask."

"Is there any reason you would not consider Lady Vénea for a wife?" Heedless of Aragorn's gaping mouth, Faramir continued. "She is high born, with Numenorean blood in her veins. She can be clever and witty in conversation, and she understands Gondor's current political situation better than most."

Everything he said was true, a fact which angered Aragorn inordinately. "She is not who I would marry, and that is that," Aragorn growled. Unlike his brothers, Faramir accepted this with a nod and went to call the next noble into the room.

Aragorn however could not so easily ignore the conversation. He found himself thinking about Faramir's words later when he knew he should be dressing for dinner. _Why did his rational reasons for marrying Vénea bother me more than Elladan and Elrohir's assertions that I love Olwen? Vénea would be a logical choice for a bride. The council would certainly approve, especially her father._

The sound of footsteps outside his door brought him out of his thoughts, and he realized he was already late for dinner. With a muttered curse, he tore his day clothes off and quickly replaced them with evening wear.

In a hurry and still lost in thought, Aragorn rounded the corner without looking first and was nearly knocked to his feet by a servant carrying a tray of food. Dishes flew everywhere and his velvet robes were covered in stew. "Your Highness! I am so sorry…"

Aragorn looked down at the mess and chuckled. _It appears I will not be able to make supper after all. _"Do not worry yourself. The fault was my own—I was not looking where I was going."

He bent down and helped the young man collect the broken pieces of pottery and what food they could easily pick up with their fingers. "There. If you will find someone to take care of this mess, I will ask the kitchen to send another tray for—"

"Lady Olwen, my Lord. Thank you!"

The servant scurried off before Aragorn could ask any of the myriad of questions he now possessed. _Why is Olwen eating alone in her chamber? Is she ill?_ His own less than regal appearance was forgotten as he hastened to the kitchen, sure he could find answers there.

As he approached his destination, the aroma of warm bread reminded him that he had not yet eaten. _Perhaps I could ask for a tray of my own. _The door was open and he walked in freely. "Good evening."

The scullery maid squeaked and a chef's helper dropped her spoon in a pot of soup. "Your Highness! We did not expect you…" 

Aragorn sighed ruefully. This reaction was not unusual from people who were not accustomed to seeing him on a daily basis. "Please, calm yourselves ladies. I have only come to let you know that a new tray will need to be prepared for Lady Olwen. As you can see, I am wearing most of the food intended for her."

The cook glanced down at his tunic and her mouth quirked into a smile. "Aye, that I can."

"And since I am now unforgivably late for my own meal, I was wondering if I might have a tray as well?" Inspiration struck him and he quickly amended his request. "Or perhaps I could simply eat here. It seems I am not to be trusted with trays this evening."

Several servants looked at each other. _My presence makes them nervous,_ he realized, but before he could retract his request, the cook nodded. "Sit down and we'll feed you. And when I get my hands on that young Findegil, I'll wring his neck for running into you like that."

"Nay Rian, I am to blame for our accident. I was busy and did not look as I turned a corner."

The quick way he took the blame on himself won the remaining servants over, and they smiled at him warmly. Aragorn took the seat indicated and soon a bowl of steaming stew was in front of him, with a large piece of crusty bread on a plate beside it. In the warm comfort of the kitchen it would have been easy to forget why he was here, but he clung to his purpose. "Are there very many in the palace who take trays in their rooms rather than join the court for supper?"

The young servant pouring his wine nodded. "I know many who are tired or ill who do not wish to be in company." Aragorn took a swallow of the wine to hide his concern. She waited and refilled his goblet when he set it down. "There are a few we serve every night—like Lady Olwen, for instance."

Aragorn nodded, and the servant backed away. _Olwen eats alone every evening… Why? Even if she is still upset with me, she knows I will not be there. Why does she not want to enjoy the company of her friends?_

He finished his bread and stew quickly, for his tunic had dried and was now stuck to his skin. With another word of thanks to the kitchen staff, he returned to his room and stripped the offending garment off and replaced it with a clean one. It occurred to him then that the accident with the servant had given him a rare blessing—an evening without any obligations. His steps were light as he walked back to the library.

In the Last Homely House books were valued above jewels and Aragorn had learned from an early age that there were great adventures to be found within their covers. The tales of his ancestors Tuor and Eärendil enchanted him even now. He selected a volume from his shelf and settled into a large, cushioned chair with a glass of wine on the table at his elbow. As always, the words swept him away to a long-distant place and he paid no heed to the swiftly passing hours.

He was more than halfway through the book when he heard the slight snick of the door being opened. His first thought was that Legolas or his brothers had joined him, and he looked up to welcome them.

Lady Vénea stood before him, her dark hair caught in a loose braid that hung to her waist. "Your Highness! I did not expect to see you here. I could not sleep, so I thought to try a book."

Her words were plausible, yet Aragorn knew for a surety that she lied. He took in her attire, again more suited to the bedroom, and rose from his seat. "If you will excuse me…"

"You need not leave on my account, sire!" she protested. "Please stay—I missed speaking with you at dinner tonight."

She took a step closer and the light from the fire shone through her sheer dress. In the instant before his eyes swung back up to her face, Aragorn saw every inch of her figure silhouetted beneath the garment, and he swallowed hard. "I am sorry, my lady," he said firmly. "It simply would not be appropriate for me to remain here when you are clad thusly."

She laughed lightly. "But surely my lord I have nothing to fear from you." She took another step and placed a hand on his chest. "After all, you are the noblest of men, are you not?"

The light in her eyes challenged and tempted him, and he knew he could stay no longer. "And such I would remain." He spun away from her touch and escaped the confines of the room.

He was alone in his chamber for several long moments before he felt his pulse slow to its normal rate. The encounter with Vénea confounded him. _Sure she did not mean…_ He remembered the innocence hidden beneath her false surprise and he knew she had not. He did not know how a lady could be scheming and naïve at the same time, but he knew that somehow, Vénea had thought only that her actions would move him to offer for her—nothing more.

He smiled grimly, for at least now he had an answer to Faramir's question. "I will not marry a woman who hunts a husband as if he were some animal. But how to tell her father?"

The question still plagued him the next afternoon, so he decided to ask the only men he knew who had experience at turning down ladies. "You wished to see us, Estel?" Elrohir asked when he and Elladan joined Aragorn in the library.

"Yes, I seem to have a small problem I do not know how to resolve."

Elladan leaned against a window sill and exchanged a glance with Elrohir. "You refer to Lady Vénea." They both laughed when Aragorn's brows rose. "Brother, the whole palace has noticed the tenacity with which the lady pursues you."

Aragorn shuffled his papers around. "The situation is a bit sticky, politically. I need to know how to tell her—or rather her father—that I have no intention of marrying her."

"Praise the Valar," Elrohir muttered.

Aragorn snorted. "You did not think I would be so easily snared, did you?"

"No… but I do wish you would make your thoughts on the matter plain. I am sure Vénea is not the only one laboring under false impressions."

Aragorn caught the quick look of warning Elladan shot Elrohir and knew what his brother had left unsaid. "You refer to Olwen. I thought we had closed that subject weeks ago."

Either Elrohir had missed the look from Elladan, or he chose to ignore it. He scowled and crossed his arms before he answered. "She is miserable, Aragorn. She had not spoken to us in weeks and we can see this. You were her friend, and you have abandoned her. Now servants and soldiers alike spread gossip about your relationship with Vénea, and she does not know—**she does not know**—that it will never happen!"

Elrohir's reminder that he had been Olwen's friend stoked Aragorn's guilt. "How is her misery my fault? Did I force her to give up the gardens, or order her to stop dining in the company of friends? If she gives up all she cherished, I cannot be held to account for it."

Instead of chagrin he saw surprise on their faces and he knew he had given away more than he had intended. The twins rose from their seats. "You are right, but think on this Aragorn," Elladan said. "You have noticed much about Olwen for a man who claims not to care for her."

When they reached the door, Elrohir turned back. "As for your original question, I suggest you tell Tarondor you are not prepared to marry just yet. That is certainly the truth."

Aragorn's first thought was to follow them and pick up the argument regarding Olwen. However, Elrohir's advice was sound and he knew that situation needed to be handled first. A servant was dispatched to bring Tarondor to him, and a few minutes later the man walked in.

"How may I be of service, Your Highness?"

Aragorn rose from his seat. "I am glad you could join me, Tarondor. I wish to discuss something with you that may be uncomfortable for both of us—it certainly will be for me," he muttered.

"Sire?"

Aragorn closed the door and moved back to the other side of the desk. "Nothing, Tarondor. Please sit down." He waited until his companion was seated for he took his own chair again.

"I believe you are a man who values plain talk, so I will speak clearly. Am I correct to assume you brought your daughter here this winter hoping she might catch my eye?"

Aragorn marveled at the deep shade of his red his councilor turned. "I… that is, we hoped, but…"

"Peace, Tarondor. I admit I was displeased when I first suspected your intent, but I have come to respect your reasoning, if not your methods." Aragorn steepled his hands in front of him and looked Tarondor squarely in the eye. "However, the King of Gondor is not prepared to take a bride at this time." Olwen invaded his thoughts and it was with effort that he kept his expression neutral. _I am not prepared to take a bride at all,_ he reminded himself.

Tarondor leaned forward. "Sire, if I may ask… When will you be ready? The people want a Queen, but more than that they desire an heir."

The old impatience swept over him, and Aragorn dropped his hands into his lap to hide the way his fingers clenched. "I am aware of my people's longing for an heir, Tarondor, and I will see to the issue when I deem the time is right."

Tarondor nodded reluctantly. "I will leave it to you to explain the matter to your daughter. Please apologize on my behalf if I have given rise to certain expectations—that was certainly not my intent." He paused for a bare minute. "I think, given the circumstances, that it might be better if I avoided dinner for a few weeks. In truth, there are many things to occupy my time with the arrival of the court, but I also would not want Lady Vénea to be at all confused by my actions."

Tarondor's smile was strained but genuine. "I do appreciate that, Your Highness. I trust this has not damaged our new rapport in any way?"

"Not for my part, Tarondor. You are a valued member of the King's Council."

Aragorn stood and his noble mirrored the action. "Thank you, Your Highness." He bowed and exited the room quickly.

Aragorn leaned against an empty stretch of wall. _That went better than I had expected. I have truly misjudged the man—more than I realized. He did not just want me for his daughter, he wanted me married for Gondor._

Thoughts of marriage reminded him of his earlier conversation with his brothers, and he began pacing the floor. _Once again, they insist on turning everything back around to Olwen. This time they did not even give me the chance for a rebuttal._

_And what would you say?_ _Even you cannot deny they speak the truth, _a little voice in the back of his mind taunted him. _You have sought to ignore Olwen, and yet she has remained in your thoughts every day. You know her routine, you know when she is unhappy or angry. It bothers you when she passes you by in the corridor because you miss talking with her, even though you do not know what you would say to her if she stopped. Lie to yourself no longer, Aragorn—you very much regret the loss of your friendship._

He poured himself a glass of wine and tried to ignore the rising sense of panic as these thoughts piled on top of each other. _I do not regret my actions,_ he countered fiercely. _I could not allow her to believe I had feelings for her, I could not let her hope that…_

_Let her hope what? That you might one day choose her as your bride? You must marry, and you cannot wait much longer. Would it truly be a problem if the woman you chose cared for you? Surely Olwen is a better choice than Vénea._

He slashed through the air with the hand holding his wine glass, narrowly avoiding spilling the ruby liquid on himself. How could he let his mind wander this far down this path? True, he knew what duty required of him and he was prepared to marry and provide an heir to the throne of Gondor. But Olwen…

Unbidden, an image came to him of her heavy with his child. His breath caught for a minute, but then he smashed the goblet down on the mantle. "I will not allow this," he growled out loud. "Olwen has no place in my life, and that is final."

These last words were spoken loudly enough to catch the attention of any who might be passing by the half open door. Olwen gasped and tears sprang to her eyes, for although some might not understand their meaning, it was quite clear to her. "So be it, my lord," she murmured. "So be it."


	15. Chapter 14

**AN:** Well! It seems the way to illicit extra response is to leave you with something of a cliffhanger. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it was (as always) very much appreciated.

We're approaching the end of the story. This chapter sets up the final conflict—though you won't realize it until you read the next chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter Fourteen: Hope Fades**

_The mist pressed in all around her. There was a light ahead, but no matter how hard she ran she never reached it. All around her people reached out to her and she tried to grab them, but they slipped through her fingers._

"_Olwen!"_

"_Olwen!"_

_Their voices called to her but she could not see them. In anguish, she knelt on the forest floor and wept. _

"_Olwen!"_

When she woke, her knees were cold from the stone floor of the corridor. The dream was still fresh in her mind and she realized she had slept walked once more. _Well, you cannot stay here, Olwen._ She started to rise and out of nowhere a hand reached out to assist her. She looked up directly into Legolas' concerned face and realized it must have been his voice that had pulled her out of the dream.

He pulled her to her feet, but when she would have taken her hand back he held onto it. "Are you well, my lady?" he questioned.

She sighed. _I suppose he deserves some kind of explanation, since he did find me on the floor in the middle of the night._ "I am fine Legolas, though it appears I have wandered in my sleep again." She glanced around the corridor and flinched when she recognized the library door. "I am sorry; I hope I did not disturb you."

"That is no matter. I was preparing to retire anyway." He raised an eyebrow. "You said again—does this mean you have done this before?"

She pulled her hand free. "Several times in fact, right after I arrived in Minas Tirith." 

Legolas pursed his lips and she knew her matter of fact tone had not stopped his questions. "Then why is there not a guard posted at your door, and why have I not heard of this?"

She glanced at him sharply. "Surely you can understand why I would not advertise such a thing." He nodded; a lady would not want it known that she wandered the halls alone and vulnerable at night. "As to your other question, I did have a guard for a time. Then the episodes stopped, and I was able to convince King Elessar…"

Legolas did not comment when she trailed off, for which she was grateful. She saw sympathy in his face and knew he must suspect what troubled her enough to drive her from bed, but he was kind enough to change the subject. "Allow me to escort you back to your chamber," he offered.

She felt the tension in Legolas' arm as soon as she took it, but she did not ask what bothered him. He would tell her if he wished, and to be truthful she was pleased with the silence. The dream still bothered her. _How can something be so vivid when the images are so vague?_

They were almost to her chamber when he took a deep breath. She braced herself, knowing he had finally decided to speak. "Will you not rejoin us for supper tomorrow night, Lady Olwen? We have sorely missed your company."

This was not the question she had anticipated. Olwen withdrew her hand and this time he did not stop her. She turned to face him, arms crossed and feet wide. "If you wished for my presence, then perhaps some of you should have stayed out of the business of others."

Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will not pretend I do not understand your meaning, my lady. When I learned what they had done, I told them the same thing. But please understand—they only interfered out of their love for their brother."

The words were a slap to the face. _Does even Legolas believe I am not worthy of Aragorn's affection?_ Reluctant to see the disapproval she knew she would find in his face, she focused instead on the rich tapestry that hung on the wall behind him. "I did not think you would share their beliefs, Legolas."

"It is rather obvious, Olwen."

She gasped and reached for her door, but Legolas stopped her. "My lady? Have I said something to upset you?"

"Nay," she said through a throat choked by tears. "Please let me go."

"I will not until you tell me what is wrong."

She reached for the door with one hand and attempted to escape his grasp, but he held on. Slowly, she turned back around to face him, her shoulders slumped.

He let her hand go when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Olwen, please. Tell me what troubles you so."

The appearance of compassion when it was he who had brought her to tears stirred her anger. She clung to the emotion, grateful for anything that would give her the strength to stand up under his questions. "Your own words are what trouble me, Legolas." She saw his confusion and rolled her eyes. "Did you not think it would hurt to hear that…"

She paused, suddenly aware of what she had been about to reveal in her anger. _…that my feelings for the king are so obvious?_ She gritted her teeth and turned away from him again.

"Olwen? It hurt to hear…?" She pressed her lips together. _I will not give him the satisfaction of hearing the words._

There was a long pause, and when Legolas spoke again his voice was noticeably cool. "I see, my lady. Perhaps things are not as we had thought they were, but if you do not care for Aragorn, you must find a way to let him know. He cares for you, though his grief will not allow him to see it."

Olwen froze. _Do they all believe he cares for me?_ She thought back to her last conversation with Elladan and Elrohir and realized they had not actually told her what they had had said to Aragorn—she had simply assumed.

A curious emotion grew within her. She tried briefly to place the flutter that felt like a million butterflies in her stomach, but she could not. _Could they be right? Could Aragorn…_

But she did not even complete the thought in her mind before she remembered the words he had spoken that afternoon. _Olwen has no place in my life._

"You are wrong," she said softly.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?"

She turned to face him. "You are wrong," she repeated, her voice firmer. "The king does not see me as anything more than a subject."

Legolas shook his head. "My lady, I assure you—"

She cut him off. "No. He has made it more than clear that he does not even wish to continue our friendship. Believe me Legolas, whatever tender feelings you think he harbors for me, you are wrong." She thought of the palace gossip and snorted. "It seems Lady Vénea has his full attention."

"My lady, you should not pay attention to rumors. I have known Aragorn for many years, and I assure you Vénea holds no interested for him."

The curious emotion fluttered to life again, but this time she ruthlessly killed it. "I do not wish to speak any more on this subject." Legolas opened and closed his mouth. _For once, he will let it go._

The emotions of the day caught up with her and she sagged against the door. When Legolas would have caught her, she shook her head. "I am simply tired, Legolas. Good night." She entered her room and closed the door without waiting for an answer from him.

Her weariness was bone deep and she lay back down, certain that this time her rest would not be disturbed. Indeed, sleep soon claimed her, but just before she drifted off she finally placed that fragile emotion she had killed: hope.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Journey to the Crossroads**

Sunlight filled her room when Olwen woke the next morning, and she knew she had slept later than was her usual practice. Her stomach rumbled, and food was her first concern. _Legolas likely ate hours ago, but perhaps there is something left in the breakfast room._

The corridor outside her room was unusually busy, and she had to weave through the throngs of people to get to the breakfast room. The hair on the back of her neck rose with the certainty that they were all watching her. _Is something amiss with my appearance?_ She checked in the large gilt mirror hanging just inside the entryway and found nothing out of place. _I must be imagining it._

When she reached the door, she heard the chatter of conversation within and relaxed—she had not wholly missed the meal. She pushed the door open and walked in. Silence spread across the room in a wave and every head turned to stare at her.

_This is not my imagination. _She returned the openly curious looks with a confused smile and filled her plate with fruit and bread. Uncomfortable with the blatant attention, she chose a seat at an empty table as near the door as she could find.

As soon as she sat down, an excited buzz filled the room. She picked at her food, though she could barely taste the rich strawberry jam through the metallic tang of apprehension. _What I have I done to generate so much interest?_ After a few bites, she could eat no more. All eyes followed her when she rose to leave, and she hardly kept herself from curtseying before she exited the room.

Now aware that she was indeed the center of attention, the crowds of people in the hallway pressed around her. Her lungs seized; each breath was more labored than the one before. _I must get out of here!_ She pushed her way through the sea of people to the main door of the palace and nearly ran through it.

The fountain still flowed despite the cold, and she hurried to stand in front of it. She took huge gasping breaths, a shaky hand pressed against her chest. Gradually, her breathing slowed and she could hear the gentle bubble of the water. The sound calmed her further, as it always did, and she sat down on the stones to listen.

Voices caught her attention, and when she looked up, she recognized Elladan and Elrohir. Even from a distance she could see the way dirt and sweat clung to them, and she knew they came from sparring practice. A new realization occurred to her as she watched them cross the courtyard—if Legolas was right and they had in fact encouraged Aragorn to court her, they had not deserved the full weight of her anger.

She rose from her seat before she was aware of what she was doing. After the odd attention she had received at breakfast, she yearned for the company of ones who knew her. "Elladan! Elrohir!" The twins turned slowly and she hurried to cross the distance between them. "May I have a word?"

Elladan laughed sharply. "I do not believe you have anything to say that we would wish to hear."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have I offended you in some way?"

Elrohir took a half step toward her, then stopped and clenched his fists. "Offended **us**, my lady? Do not pretend—"

Elladan put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "There is no reason to air our grievances."

Olwen crossed her arms in front of her, mostly in an effort to conceal the sinking feeling in her stomach. "I wish to hear what I have done."

The twins exchanged a silent conversation, and finally Elladan nodded. "But not here. Follow me." He led the way out of the courtyard and through the gate to the sixth level. They walked past the Houses of Healing, and Olwen nodded to the healers entering for the day.

_Spring is nearly here,_ she thought when she entered the garden. However, not even the tiny green sprouts poking above the ground could calm her nerves.

"This should be far enough," Elladan decided when they had walked to the center of the garden. "I do not wish anyone to see or hear this conversation. There are enough rumors circulating right now."

"Rumors? But what…" Olwen looked from one brother to the other and the strange looks she had received finally began to make sense. _There is but one piece missing._ "I believe you should tell me about these rumors."

Elrohir snorted. "Do you actually pretend to be unaware?"

She kept cool underneath his glare and after a moment he threw up his hands in disgust. "Very well! But I do not know why we must go through with this pretense."

He paced a few times beneath the trees and then turned back to her. "The whole palace is abuzz with news of your liaison with Legolas last night—yes, you were seen. By the Valar, Olwen! Could you not have chosen someone else? Legolas is one of his dearest friends; this betrayal will cut Aragorn to the quick."

Olwen did not know if she was more angry or mortified. When he took a breath, she cut in. "Have you considered there might be an innocent explanation for what was seen?"

Elladan laughed, and the cold sound hurt more than all of Elrohir's yelling. "You were dressed in your night clothes, Olwen. How could that possibly be innocent?"

Her face grew hot. _If only my door was still guarded!_ She wiped her palms on her skirt and then clasped her hands together. "It is true that Legolas walked me back to my room late last night, and yes, I was dressed in naught but a night gown."

"You do not even bother to deny it!"

Elrohir's angry interruption turned some of her anxiety to irritation, and she fixed him with a cool gaze. "That is the only truth contained in those rumors." She ignored his grunts and growls of outrage and looked at Elladan, who leaned against a tree with his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow and she hesitated for a moment. _Is that a sign of disbelief or a gesture to continue?_

In truth, it mattered not. She took a deep breath. "I do not know exactly what the gossip mongers are saying, but I can easily guess. However, I swear by Mandos that nothing illicit happened."

Her oath caught their attention, as she had hoped. Elladan straightened and Elrohir ceased his continual stomping about. Olwen held still under their scrutinizing looks.

"You said there was an innocent explanation," Elladan finally said. "We would hear it now."

Olwen dropped her head slightly. _Will the entire palace soon know of my weakness?_ "At times… when I am troubled… I have been known to walk in my sleep." She darted a quick glance at them, but their impassive features told her nothing. "I… yesterday…"

"_Olwen has no place in my life."_

She swallowed back the tears that threatened. "Legolas found me last night, and he was kind enough to walk me back to my room."

Elrohir picked up a stick and twirled it absently. When he finally looked at her, she saw his skepticism. "If you are prone to nighttime wanderings, why is there not a guard at your door?"

She sighed. "There was for a time, but as the frequency of the incidents slowed… Would you wish to have a guard placed outside your chamber each night, even for your protection? I felt like a prisoner in my own room." Both twins grimaced and she knew she had made her point.

"Perhaps you should tell Aragorn you need one again." This came from Elladan, and when she looked at him she nearly fainted in relief. Almost all the animosity had left his eyes. _He believes me, or nearly._ "It does not seem safe for a lady to wander the corridors alone at night, especially when she is not awake to defend herself."

She realized what he was suggesting and shook her head so fast that a strand of hair fell into her eyes. "I will not ask for a guard."

Elrohir frowned. "I am afraid I agree with my brother, Lady Olwen. Suppose someone less honorable than Legolas were to find you. Especially with the rumors circulating now, he might feel he had free rein to do with you as he wished."

His meaning could not be mistaken, and yet she shook her head yet again. "I will bar my door from the inside if I must, but I will not request a guard."

He started to insist, but Elladan interrupted. "You misunderstand, brother. It is not the guard she refuses; it is the conversation with Aragorn. Is that not so, my lady?" Olwen flushed and nodded. "I believe it is now time to ask a question that has bothered me much in the past weeks. Why have you been so angry with us? Admittedly, our… interference did not have the desired result, but we attempted to apologize."

_Oh, do not ask me that!_ Olwen directed her gaze at the ground in hopes that he would forget his question or decide to move on, but after a few minutes, he said, "Olwen?"

She toyed with the seam of her dress for a moment longer before she looked up. "When you told me you had… interfered, as you put it, I assumed you had…" She saw the confusion on their faces and she rushed to defend herself. "Well, you did not say how. I thought… naturally, I assumed you had told Aragorn that I…" She swallowed. "That I care for him. That is, I believed you had perhaps… suggested his current course of action."

They both blinked at her fragmented explanation. "I am not sure I followed that entirely, my lady. Are you saying you thought we advised Aragorn to discourage your affection?"

She wrinkled her brow. _Did I not just say that?_ "Of course."

Elrohir laughed. "In truth my lady, we tried to show him that he cares for you."

"Indeed. Our brother… I do not know how much of his past you are aware of…"

"He has told me of Arwen," she said quietly. Both Elves paled slightly at their sister's name. _What would it be like to inspire such feeling in all I meet?_

"Then he trusts you more than he realizes," Elladan told her. "He has hardly mentioned her name since Ada told him she had gone into the West."

Olwen flinched. "I do not believe that is the kind of trust I desire from him," she admitted.

"No, I do not imagine so." He studied her for a long moment. "There is still one thing that bothers me," he said finally. "You seemed to think we would disapprove of a relationship between you."

She frowned. "Yes, of course."

"I confess, this confuses me as well," Elrohir said. "Why would you believe that?"

_Do they jest?_ She looked from one to the other, but no laughter lurked in their eyes. Their questions were making her feel more vulnerable than she already did, and she turned slightly in an effort to hide from them. "Surely that is obvious?" They shook their heads. She took a deep breath. "How can I be worthy of the king's affections if I do not even know who I am?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment. _Why do they not respond?_ Olwen looked down at the ground again, hoping she could ignore the silence.

It was Elladan who finally spoke. "My lady, you do not remember your past, and I grieve for you." The soft sympathy in his voice strengthened with his next words, and against her will Olwen found her eyes meeting his. "However, even without knowing your history I know what kind of lady you are—wise, intelligent, and kind, exactly the kind of woman Aragorn needs as his wife and his Queen. Who you are is defined by your actions, not your past."

Olwen's world tilted and shifted before righting itself. _Could it be…?_ She pressed her point, not quite able to believe his words. "But I could be anyone… We do not even know if I am Gondorian."

Elrohir answered. "That does not matter to us, nor does it matter to Aragorn. We were all raised to believe that a person's value and honor does not lie merely in their birth."

"I thank you for your honesty." Her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears, and she cleared her throat before speaking again. "I believe I would like to return to my room now; will you excuse me?"

"Of course, Lady Olwen."

She felt the speculative stares and hidden smirks of the people she passed in the courtyard, but no amount of gossip could shake her fresh confidence. _Who you are is defined by your actions, not your past._ All this time she had been searching for an identity and the truth had been right in front of her.

The song of the fountain sounded more joyous than it ever had before, and she knew somehow that she had been searching for this answer long before her memory loss. She dipped her hands in the water on her way by and laughed a little as she skipped on.

An unpleasant thought broke through her sense of self-discovery: If Elladan was right, then Aragorn had rejected her not because he did not know who she was, but because he did. Her eyes burned with tears, but she refused to let them fall here, where the prying eyes could see. The unfairness of it struck her and she laughed bitterly. _Is it not enough that Aragorn wants nothing to do with me? Must I also endure gossip?_

The next few weeks tried her new confidence greatly. Her friends offered support as best they could, but not even a constant escort could stop the whispers. Somehow she kept a serene smile pasted on her face during the day, but the strain kept her from sleeping through the night.

Some nights she woke up struggling with the lock, but after a time she took to wandering onto her balcony instead. After waking up against the cold stone, she ordered a chaise to be placed there in hopes she could actually sleep in some comfort. Many was the morning when she awoke with the late winter sun full on her face and her nose and toes cold from sleeping outside.

She took some comfort in the belief that Aragorn was too busy to pay attention to gossip. The few times they met in the hall, his expression was bland and indifferent. At one time this would have stung, but now she was relieved by it. When he met her eyes, she turned away so he might not see the distress others missed.

The rumors slowly faded, but her anxiety did not. One morning when she met Aragorn, something different in his expression kept her from turning aside. She watched him as she passed, and finally realized it was speculation. _He has heard… does he believe the rumors to be true?_ She searched his face frantically for some sign, and the anger she saw there broke her heart and the last of her resolve.

In the quiet of her room, she sat down in the chair by her fireplace and made her plans for the future. The merry dance of the flames mesmerized her, and she watched them as she contemplated what she would do next.

"_You are defined by your actions…"_ Elladan's words gave her courage when she spoke with Prince Faramir that afternoon. He gladly agreed with her request to join them in Ithilien.

She stumbled slightly when she rose from the dinner table that night. The constant lack of sleep had affected her coordination, and she would have hit the floor if Legolas had not caught her.

"Le hannon."

"May I escort you back to your room, my lady?" he asked. "It seems someone needs to walk with you to ensure you do yourself no harm."

She tried, but she could not laugh. She gave him a weak smile instead and said, "I would enjoy the company, Legolas. Thank you."

They walked in companionable silence and Olwen was grateful to see that no one they passed gave them a second glance. "It would seem interest in us has faded."

"It usually does, my lady. Gossip loses its thrill when it is proven false. There will always be some willing to believe the worst, but most people realize the truth and move on to juicier stories." They were in front of her room now, and she laughed a little at the irony—here they stood, talking of how the gossip had faded standing in the very place that had started it all.

Her amusement faded when she recalled Aragorn's expression, and she sought to change the subject. "I have some news I believe you will welcome."

"What is that, Lady Olwen?"

"When you leave for Ithilien this spring, I will be coming with you."

Legolas looked at her in surprise. "I thought you planned to make Minas Tirith your home."

She traced the groove around one of the stones in the wall with her finger. "I thought at one time that I would find my family here, but I no longer believe so. Without that, I have no reason to stay."

He heard what she did not say. "What of Aragorn?" he asked quietly.

Olwen stared at a spot just above his shoulder. "The king has been more than generous, but it is time I found a place of my own."

Legolas frowned and placed a hand on her arm. "My lady, if you will but give him more time…"

"No, Legolas. One day Aragorn will marry, and I cannot…"

She broke off and Legolas wiped tears from her face that she had not even known were falling. "We will welcome you to Ithilien." She sighed and rested her head lightly on his shoulder, telling him without words how much she appreciated his friendship.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: A Star Shines**

In truth, when Aragorn met Olwen in the hallway that morning, he had only just heard the rumors for the first time. In the fortnight following his decision to cut her from his life, he managed to turn a deaf ear whenever her name was mentioned. Whether he had managed to marshal his own thoughts only he knew, but the whispers floating around the palace drifted past him unheeded. Gradually though the words filtered through to him.

"Did you hear about Olwen and…"

"Seen alone together…"

"I heard she and…"

"In the middle of the night!"

"Don't be so naïve—what reason could a decent woman have to be out of her chamber so late at night?"

_Olwen has been entertaining men in the middle of the night?_ Thoughts of her alone with some faceless man made him grit his teeth in anger. Whoever he was, he had taken advantage of her—Aragorn was quite sure Olwen was not this type of woman.

So when he saw her next, on the very occasion that troubled Olwen so much, he paid attention to her expression. Her smile was forced, and there were little lines around her eyes and mouth that spoke of great weariness or unhappiness. Suddenly his anger exploded into rage, and he wanted the name of the man who had hurt her so he could rip him apart.

The intensity of the feeling shocked him, all the more because he could see his brothers' gleeful smiles if they knew what he was thinking. _I am not jealous,_ he told himself. _She is under my protection. I will not allow this to happen in my home._

Unaware of the manner in which she had misconstrued his interest in her, Aragorn continued on to his study. Even as he worked, however, part of his mind was imagining ways he could handle the discipline of whoever had misused Olwen so grievously.

It was late when he returned to the palace that evening, and the ache in his back told him he had spent far too long hunched over his desk. His fingers were ink stained and his hand cramped from so much writing, but the task of gathering the various factions of Arnor into a single kingdom that was united with Gondor was not an easy one. It required a great many missives back and forth with the nobles of the area—missives he needed to write himself.

The corridors were silent; everyone with sense was already abed. He was almost to his chamber when voices intruded into his exhausted mind—soft feminine tones matched by the lower voice of a male. Unwilling to be caught in conversation or to interrupt a private exchange, Aragorn slowed and peered around the corner cautiously.

Legolas and Olwen stood in front of her door, clearly deep in confidence. The Elf had one hand placed on the small of her back in a possessive gesture that set Aragorn's blood boiling. He watched as Legolas raised one hand to her face to wipe away a tear that Aragorn had not been able to see.

The intimacy of that simple move hit him like a punch in the gut. _He is certainly very free with his affection,_ he thought bitterly.

In the next moment, Olwen leaned her head against Legolas' shoulder, and Aragorn could stand it no longer. "Legolas," he said, coming around the corner, "would you come with me? I have something I need to discuss with you."

With every step, his mind replayed the gentle way Legolas had touched her and the natural ease with which she had lain her head on his shoulder. Memory of his friend's fingers against Olwen's face drove the fire of his rage higher, and Aragorn practically threw the library door off its hinges.

Legolas followed him into the room and closed the door. "Is there something disturbing you, Aragorn?"

Aragorn crossed his arms and tapped a quick rhythm on the floor with his boot. "I was not aware it was your custom to carry on with a woman in the plain sight of everyone."

Legolas' hands clenched into fists. "And I was not aware it was your custom to listen to idle gossip."

Aragorn took an involuntary step forward. "I would not have believed the rumors if I had not seen evidence with my own eyes! You looked very cozy together a moment ago."

His own hands clenched at the memory, and for a tense moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling fire. Aragorn met Legolas' scowl with one of his own, and finally the Elf relaxed fractionally. "I am only gong to say this once Aragorn, so listen well. Nothing inappropriate has occurred between Olwen and myself."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "How can you expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to trust what you know to be true of me!" Legolas snapped.

Indignation radiated from him, and for the first time doubt took Aragorn. "Then explain yourself."

Legolas breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth before answering. "It is true that we were seen together late at night. However, what no one has considered is that I was merely walking her back to her own room. She was sleep walking, Aragorn."

He blinked. "But she hasn't done that in many months."

Legolas crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. "She says it seems to happen when she is troubled. Can you think of anything lately that might have upset her?" Aragorn could not meet his eyes, and he pressed his advantage. "Do you know why I was holding her? She had just told me she plans to leave Minas Tirith, and she started to cry."

Aragorn dropped back into a chair. "Leave? But she can't… this is her home!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Her home? She hasn't been made to feel very welcome lately."

The accusation was obvious and Aragorn's temper flared. "You are trying my patience, Legolas."

Rather than back down, Legolas took a step closer. "And you are trying mine. You are so blinded by the past that you cannot see your future is about to walk out the door." Aragorn flinched at the reference to Arwen but Legolas did not relent. "Does it matter so little that she loves you?"

In his mind's eye, he saw Olwen's almost imperceptible flinch when he had told her he did not care to spend time with her anymore and her sudden avoidance of him took on new meaning. Guilt welled up in him, but he forced it back ruthlessly. "And yet that does not explain why I found her nestled in your arms," he pointed out.

"Does that bother you, Aragorn?" Legolas goaded. "Tell me, when you saw us in the corridor tonight, how did that make you feel? Do not lie to me, Aragorn. I saw the jealousy in your eyes—it was all that kept me from striking you for your insinuations."

The denial Aragorn had practiced for so many months would not come. Panic clawed at him, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times in hopes that the right words would come out. Instead, he simply gaped at Legolas, unable to answer.

Legolas stepped forward and put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I grieved for your loss once, mellon nin, but if you lose Olwen, you will have none to blame but yourself." He squeezed Aragorn's shoulder once and then quietly exited the room.

Long after he was gone, Aragorn stood staring at the door. _She loves me… Legolas has not been courting her… she loves me… _The words finally pulled him out of his trance and he moved toward the door himself. He walked down the corridor only somewhat more slowly than before. He had to get out of here, away from where anyone might find him. Legolas' words were a jumble in his mind, and he had to think.

Unbidden, his feet led him to the gardens where he had spent so many hours with Olwen. He sat down and leaned against the broad trunk of a tree and drew his cloak around him to keep the chill night air out.

Legolas' words came to mind again, and he wondered if they held any truth. _Was I jealous?_ As soon as he gave the question room, the answer was obvious. But instead of making him happy, the knowledge frightened him and he beat his open palm against the ground before looking to the stars for guidance.

It had been many months since he had given the night sky more than a cursory look, and for a moment the brilliance of the stars dazzled him. On this night, the star of Eärendil was particularly bright. This star, the star of high hope, kindled that hope—that estel—in his heart once more, and he opened his heart to beseech the Valar for wisdom.

"Ai Elbereth Githoniel…" he started and then stopped suddenly. There was no song in the languages of Elves or Men that held the plea he needed to make. He tried again. "Elbereth, Queen of the Stars, I cry out to you. I know you hold all in the palm of your hand, and you know the comings and goings of all the creatures of Arda."

Again he paused. Praise to Elbereth flowed naturally from one raised among the Elves, but he knew not what to say next. His words tonight were too close to that grief that he had locked away, and after three years he did not know how to open that part of his heart again.

Finally he closed his eyes and imagined he was in Rivendell, the place were he had always felt closest to the Valar. When he next opened his mouth, the words came, haltingly at first and then faster and faster.

"Ada… Ada told me that in order to go forward… I must let go of the past. I have to let this grief… let Arwen fade until she is no more than a memory." His head fell back against the tree. "But how can I do that? I made a vow to her… how can I move on to a new life?"

He tried to picture Arwen's face but instead it was Olwen he saw—the quirk of her brow when she questioned him, the teasing twinkle in her eye, the way the rising sun painted her features with the golden glow of dawn. Part of his heart still ached for Arwen, but that grief was now tempered by a sharp longing for Olwen.

He sat beneath the trees for so long that he drifted into that place between sleep and consciousness where dreams and visions linger. There, he saw himself walking back to the palace under the pale light of the moon. When he reached the courtyard, he saw a body broken against the stones and he knew without looking any closer that it was Olwen.

**AN:** Yes, another cliffhanger. I've been rather kind to you really—this is only the second one in the entire story. Now, you've probably noticed I post one chapter a week. I might be persuaded to post the next chapter early if enough of you request it. Otherwise, look for it on Friday as per usual.


	18. Chapter 17

**AN: **Thanks for all the reviews, guys. Here is chapter 17, as promised. After this there are only two chapters and an (as yet unfinished) epilogue. We're finally reaching the end of the story.

**Chapter Seventeen: Safe in My Arms**

Aragorn was on his feet and out of the garden in an instant. Though his foresight was not as precise as Elrond's, the image of Olwen lying dead against the cold stones of the courtyard had been too vivid to be anything but a premonition. _Not again, not again,_ his thoughts echoed in time with his steps as he ran into the Citadel and around to the side of the palace so he could see Olwen's room.

He nearly choked when he saw her; clad in her nightgown, she leaned precariously against the low edge of the balcony. Her eyes were half-closed and he remembered what Legolas has told him. _Why did I not think of the danger a balcony might be to one who sleep walks?_ _Another step and she will tumble over the edge._

His heart hammered wildly and his throat was so dry that he could barely open his mouth, but he knew he must wake her. He moistened his lips. "Olwen!"

She woke with a start and looked around at her surroundings. When she saw how close she was to the edge, she took a quick step back, but in her haste she stumbled against the chaise and the motion pitched her forward.

Her arms flailed, and at the last second she gripped the edge of the balcony. "Aragorn!"

She slipped slightly and he knew he had but moments to act. He positioned himself beneath her dangling form and then said, "I am here Olwen. Let go."

"I cannot!"

He fought to keep his voice calm. "Olwen, there is not time for me to come pull you up. You must let go—I swear I will catch you."

In the seconds before she answered, he knew his own life hung in the balance along with hers. _If she falls…_ She spoke before he could follow that line of thinking any farther. "I… all right."

Her nightgown billowed in the wind with a soft swish and then she was in his arms. He relished the feel of her alive and breathing before he set her down gently. She pressed her face against his chest and he held her close while she cried. "You are safe, I have you," he whispered, as much to still his own trembling as to comfort her.

He closed his eyes against the knowledge of what had almost happened. _Sweet Elbereth, I almost lost her._ His arms tightened convulsively around her and he rested his head against hers.

Her tears slowed and awareness returned. She stiffened and tried to pull back from his embrace, but he was not ready to let her go. She tilted her head back to look at him and he could see the confusion in her eyes. "Aragorn?"

She tried to escape his arms again, and this time he reluctantly released her, though he kept her hands and held them fast. "My lady…" he began and then stopped. _How can I tell her what is in my heart? _"Olwen… when I saw you… I thought… if you had fallen…"

"But I did not—you were there to catch me." She smiled, and her bravery and trust broke his heart.

His grip on her hands tightened, but he forced himself to relax when he saw her flinch slightly. "If I had been any later…" He shuddered.

She tilted her head. "Aragorn… how did you happen to be here at the right time?"

"I saw… saw you lying on the stones…" He blinked a few times to erase the vision from his mind.

Olwen knew Aragorn had the foresight of his ancestors, and her eyes widened. "You saw…"

He closed his eyes and nodded. When he spoke, his voice was rough with unshed tears. "Only once before have I seen something as frightening." She looked at him in question and he sighed. "Before… before Arwen was attacked, I saw it all. That vision—it has haunted me for nearly three years."

All expression left her face. She yanked her hands free and turned away from him. "I am very sorry, my lord, if I brought back such a painful memory, however unwittingly."

He stared at her back for a moment. _Why is she so cold?_ "Have I… have I offended you in some way, my lady?" he asked.

Her laugh was brittle. "Nay, my lord." She wrapped her arms around herself and he knew she had just lied to him. "But I am unsure why you should receive a vision of me in peril. You loved Lady Arwen, but…"

Her voice trailed off and he finally understood. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her waist. She stiffened, but she did not step away and he pulled her close. "Can you not see why this was so similar?" he asked softly. She shook her head quickly. "When I saw you… when I saw your body lying on the courtyard…" He paused for a moment to shake the image out of his head. "I felt just as I did when I saw the Orcs attack Arwen."

He waited but she did not say anything, and he felt the cold hand of apprehension claw in his stomach. _Why can she not see what I am trying to say? Was Legolas wrong—does she not care for me after all?_ For a moment, he considered retreating in silence, but he could not keep the words in. "It would seem, my lady, that my… my doom is to see the death of those I love."

Holding her as he did, he felt her quick intake of breath, but it was not enough. Suddenly, he needed to see her eyes and he turned her so she faced him. "Love?" she whispered, and he could see the hope warring with doubt—doubt he had put there by his own actions.

He raised a hand and stroked the hair out of her face, seeking to give her the reassurance she sought. "Aye, my lady—love."

She leaned into his caress for a bare minute then pulled away and looked down at the ground. "If you love me, then why…"

"Why did I turn from you?" She nodded. He thought for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain so she would believe him. Finally he remembered what Legolas had said. "I was afraid that if I accepted future happiness I would be forgetting the past."

She looked at him then, one eyebrow raised as if to say, "Is that the best you can give?"

He winced. The answer had sounded glib even to him and he knew he needed to be completely honest. "And… I suppose I was also a little afraid… I have lost so many I loved. If I loved you, would I lose you as well?"

He held his breath when he was done. _Will she believe me, or have I waited too long?_

He needn't have worried. As soon as he spoke the words, her eyes lit with a joy that stole his breath. "I am not so easy to lose, Aragorn," she teased.

Aragorn had felt this joy once before in his life, but that had been different. Then he had been a young man, still unfamiliar with all the griefs life held. Now he was at full maturity and had experienced sorrow so deep it had changed him forever. The taste of joy after so long without was like coming up for a breath of air when swimming. _"Gerich veleth nin."_

She smiled softly. _"Le anon veleth nin."_

There was more to be said, but he was suddenly aware of the impropriety of the moment. She was dressed only in her night clothes, and he was holding her quite close. He took a step back. "It is late," he murmured. "Perhaps we should discuss this more in the morning?"

She nodded and then shivered in the night breeze. Aragorn removed his own cloak and placed it around her shoulders. "Here, this will keep you warm until we get back to your room." It also hid her attire from any prying eyes, which eased some of his anxiety.

She smiled and snuggled into the folds of the garment. "Thank you, Aragorn."

Rather than simply placing a hand on the arm he offered, she laced her fingers through his. That simple gesture robbed him of speech, even more so the feeling of her gown brushing against his leg with every step they took. _How could I ever have denied this love?_

He stopped in front of her door and turned to face her. "Will I see you in the garden tomorrow morning?"

"I believe it is already morning," she pointed out with an impish smile, "but I will be there at dawn." Her smile dimmed. "I have missed seeing the sunrise with you."

The quiet words tugged at his heart and he placed a kiss on her hand. "I have missed you as well, meleth nin," he told her and was rewarded when she turned her hand and cupped his cheek. "I look forward to seeing you."

To his utter surprise and amazement, instead of entering her room she took a step closer and brushed her soft lips against his cheek. "Good night Aragorn—sweet dreams."

She did leave him then, and he stared at the closed door for a very long time before he walked away. "Sweet dreams indeed," he muttered, knowing sleep would not come to him this night.

He paced the confines of his chamber through the hours of the night, punctuated only by occasional glances at the clock. He scowled at it, sure the hands moved more slowly just to mock him, but finally it said 5:00 and he could wait no longer. His quick look out the window told him the eastern sky was a shade of blue just barely paler than the midnight above, but it was enough—sunrise was near.

_Olwen still has my cloak,_ he realized when he reached for it. With a smile on his face, he left his room without an outer garment and went to await his lady in the garden.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen: In Dreams We Will Meet Again**

Olwen stood by her door long after Aragorn's footsteps echoed down the hallway. _Do I dream? Surely this could not be true._ The weight of his cloak around her shoulders was all she had to prove she had not imagined his love, and she stroked the fine cloth until it felt real between her fingers.

The strength of her exhaustion finally struck her and she pulled the cloak close about her and lay down. Sleep pulled her quickly into the realm of Lórien. The dream began as it always did: shadowy figures called to her from out of the mist and even though she knew it was in vain, she reached out to them. But tonight instead of vanishing they materialized, and she watched with wonder as she was slowly surrounded by a company of familiar people.

She held out a hand to one and he gladly pulled her close. "Ada!" she cried. "I have missed you."

"We have always been here, Arwen," he told her quietly. "Do you not see? That is what your dream meant. Even when you could not remember us, we were here. Your family, those who love you, we are made up of more than just your memories. We are a part of you, no matter what happens."

_No matter what happens. _Despite the assurance that her choice to remain with Aragorn was right, a secret grief had dwelt deep in her heart. Then she had believed it was an eternal choice: to bind herself to Aragorn and lose her family for all time. A novel thought came to her—_Was this truly what the Valar wished me to learn?_

She looked at the beloved faces that surrounded her and smiled. "There is more than even this, is there not? Somewhere… beyond the circles of the world, there is something else—something we cannot comprehend. Somehow I know that we shall meet there, after the end of all things."

Her naneth stepped forward and kissed her cheek. "Yes, Arwen—not even the vastness of the sea can wholly sunder us. Thus is the gift of the One to his children."

She pulled back from her father's arms. "I love you all," she said. "Remember, we will see each other yet again."

The rush of memories when she awoke was overwhelming, and assimilating the last six months as Olwen into the long years of her own life was even more so. She lay in bed for several long moments, sorting through the information.

Suddenly, the full import of what was happening struck her. _I remember!_ She flew to a mirror and looked into it, almost afraid of what she would see looking back at her. There were her own grey eyes, similar to Olwen's and yet so different, lit as they were by the light of the Eldar. She tilted her head slightly, allowing her hair to fall back so she could see the pointed tips of her own ears. She smiled, and then she started laughing and crying at once, for it was almost too much to feel she had to become reacquainted with her own reflection.

_If it is too much for me, how will Aragorn react?_ She knew that he had grieved for her deeply, knew that was why he had fought so hard against loving Olwen. If she had seen him in Valinor after giving up all hope that they would ever be together again, how would she have reacted?

She tapped her fingers absently against the vanity table, and then paused suddenly. A smile slowly crept over her face. There was only one way to tell Estel.

A quick glance at the clock told her she did not have much time if she was to meet him in the garden, so she crossed the floor to the wardrobe. She dug past layers of Gondorian garments until she found what she was looking for: the simple gown she had worn when Aragorn had found her walking out of the mists. Though it was not Elvish in origin, it was infinitely more comfortable than the cumbersome garments she had worn of late. She dressed with care and then pulled his cloak on and drew the hood up to conceal her features.

She looked out the window and saw Aragorn making his way across the courtyard, though it was not yet dawn. His eagerness drew a laugh from her, but in truth she was no less anxious to be with him. She checked her reflection once more and then opened her door and rushed down the corridor as fast as decorum would allow.

Once outside, she picked up the hem of her skirt and ran to the garden. The promise of spring hung in the air, and she knew she would always associate the sweet smell of new growth with the happiness of a dream fulfilled. A few more steps and she could see him, standing where she had on that winter morning when he had first joined her. The sight of him standing with his upturned face catching the first rays of morning sun made her catch her breath.

She took another step forward, and he heard her. He turned, and she halted her progress. "My lady," he said, a smile on his face that she recognized so well. Ah, he did love her! She had known it from the moment she had awakened, but now the feeling of it washed over her.

She was still in the shadows, and for some reason, she hesitated to step into the light where he would be able to see her for who she truly was. She was suddenly, irrationally afraid of what his reaction would be, and she clutched the cloak tightly in her hands.

Aragorn noticed her hesitation and frowned. "Is something amiss, Lady Olwen?"

_You have waited so long for this,_ she chided herself. _Do not let any more time pass. _With trembling hands, she took the hood of the cloak into her hands. In one motion, she moved into the light and pushed the hood back from her face.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his face completely blank. Then in three quick strides he was in front of her, touching her so lightly she could barely feel his fingers against her face. She leaned into his caress, hungry for it after so long without. Ah, Eru—the joy of the Blessed Realm was as dust in her mouth compared to the sweetness of being loved by this man.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke "How can this be?"

She sighed, for hearing his voice was almost as wonderful as feeling his touch. "I swore a vow to you, Dunadan, that I would turn from the Twilight to live at your side. Did you not think I would keep my promise?"

She chose her words with care, purposely echoing those she had given him many years ago, and the impact of it sent Aragorn to his knees. She joined him on the ground, and it was her turn to take his face in her hands. "Look at me, Estel. I am not a phantom that will disappear. I am here, I am real."

When he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, she gasped and closed her eyes. "How?" he asked again.

"Mine was the choice of Luthien," she reminded him, "and my plea was like unto hers as well. The Valar are gracious, my love."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "That has been the hope I have clung to, but I did not dare believe it. Now I see though that you are here, though you were gone from me."

A frown still marred his brow, and she knew—for she knew him so well—that he was still puzzling over the details. Laughter burbled up within her at the sight of that frown in the midst of their joy. He raised his eyebrows, but after a moment he laughed as well and picked her and spun her around.

When he set her back down on her feet, the light in his eyes was brighter than she had ever seen it. He gazed at her for a long moment and the tenderness she saw in his expression stopped her heart for a second. He raised a hand to her face, and only then did she realize she was crying. He pulled back slowly, and she saw that he had caught one tear on his fingertip. The sun struck it and it shone with all the colors of the dawn. "I will not always be able to stop your tears, meleth nin, but I will always be here to wipe them away."

The love behind that promise struck her deeply, and before she realized what she was doing, she lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and kissed him. It took only seconds for her to realize that something was different in this kiss. She opened her eyes to examine his features, and when she saw the pure bliss that matched her own, she realized what it was.

The few kisses they had shared in the past had been fraught with fear that they might be the last. That fear was finally banished, for if death itself was not capable of separating them, what could? Secure at last, they stepped together out from beneath the Shadow into the light of joy.

**AN: **At least one of you guessed how Arwen would regain her memories, so good job! I have one more chapter and then the epilogue left—though part of me is sorely tempted to end the story here. Two more weeks and this whole crazy journey will be over.


	20. Chapter 19The End

**Chapter Nineteen: The World Ahead**

Aragorn trailed kisses along Arwen's jaw. When he reached her neck, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply of her familiar scent, so delicate and sweet. Then he placed one final kiss on the point of her ear, and that reminder that he truly held Arwen in his arms overwhelmed him. He clutched her so tightly that she gasped and murmured his name.

He loosened his grip slightly. "I am sorry, meleth nin. I did not think I would ever hold you again…"

She placed a hand over his mouth. "That time is past, Estel. Let us not speak of it again." He nodded his agreement and pressed a kiss to her palm. The Elven-light in her eyes brightened, and when she moved her hand to cup his cheek, he leaned in slightly to kiss her again.

Just before his lips met hers, he heard a twig snap. He straightened and studied the trees; even in the early morning light he could easily see two figures walking through the garden. A moment later Elladan and Elrohir stepped out of the shadows, broad grins on their faces.

Elladan lounged against the trunk of a tree. "Good morning, Estel. Legolas told us about your… discussion last night, so we came in search of you. We had thought to knock some sense into your head, but it seems that will not be necessary."

Aragorn looked at them and then back at Arwen and realized all they could see was her dark hair, so similar to Olwen's. _At last, I know something they do not. _He hid his smile and knit his brows together. "I am afraid I do not follow."

Elrohir snorted. "As if there is any other woman you would be holding…" His words trailed off when she turned around. White-faced, he mumbled, "Arwen?" She nodded and held a hand out to each of them. They reached in her three long strides and pulled her into a tight hug.

For many minutes there were no words, then Elladan finally asked the question. "How is this possible? Ada sent you to the Blessed Realm…"

Aragorn saw his own pain mirrored in Arwen's eyes. "That was not his choice to make."

"Even so," Elrohir said, "once the choice was made…"

"I am not the first elleth to be sent back to Middle-earth."

The reference to Lúthien was obvious. Aragorn stood in awe that he should be as lucky as Beren, that the Elf-maiden he loved should have chosen a mortal life over the immortality of her kin. His brothers flinched and he knew the reminder had affected them differently. Though they had not left Middle-earth with their father, they would follow eventually. For them, Lúthien raised the scepter of their sister's death—a thought which did not belong in this moment of joy.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on each twin's shoulder. "Come, my brothers. The Valar have gifted us with many years together—wish us joy."

The mood lightened, as he had hoped. "Perhaps it is Aragorn who should be given a choice," Elrohir suggested. "He is not familiar with some of our sister's mercurial moods."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "I made my choice seventy years ago, and I do not believe I will regret it."

"Very well, but when the romance fades, remember we warned you."

Arwen crossed her arms. "I have a few tales I could tell your prospective brides—you are neither of you prizes."

Elrohir protested loudly, but Elladan remained silent, a frown on his face. "Elladan? Does something bother you?" Aragorn asked.

"Estel, what of Olwen? I know you did not give our words credence, but I assure you, the maid cares deeply for you."

Aragorn tipped his head back and laughed. "Yes, I believe she does."

His frown deepened. "It is no laughing matter. I rejoice with you at Arwen's return, but…" He broke off when Arwen's laughter joined Aragorn's and his eyes narrowed. "There is something you know that I do not."

"I am sorry, Elladan, could you repeat that?"

Arwen placed a hand on Aragorn's arm, and the feel of her soft skin against his stopped him. "Do not torment them, Estel. Elladan, I do appreciate your concern for Olwen but it is unnecessary I assure you. Olwen is… She was… That is, I am…"

Elrohir pieced her rambling sentence together first. "You were Olwen?"

Arwen shrugged. "Or she was me."

"But how…"

"That was the one condition the Valar placed on my return."

Elrohir frowned, and for a moment Aragorn wondered if he would question their reasoning behind such a condition. He himself had wondered, but it seemed a trivial thing compared to the blessing of Arwen's return.

Elrohir must have reached the same conclusion, for instead of pushing the point he said, "I believe it is time for breakfast." A wicked gleam entered his eyes. "I look forward to seeing the look on Legolas' face when he sees you."

They were a merry party as they walked from the garden into the Citadel. The revelation of Olwen's true identity cast many events in a humorous light. Aragorn recounted his fear when Elladan and Elrohir arrived in the City—that they were Olwen's relatives, come to take her away. "And indeed, you are her relatives," he concluded, earning laughter from his companions.

They had almost reached the palace when they were stopped by the last person Aragorn wished to see: Tarondor. "Your Highness, my lords Elladan and Elrohir… and I do not believe I am familiar with the lady." He took her hand and bowed low over it, and Aragorn knew the astute man had not missed the way his king held the strange lady close to him.

"Good morning Tarondor. This is Lady Arwen, sister to Elladan and Elrohir—and my betrothed." Aragorn was grateful the courtyard was still mostly deserted, for he was not ready to announce that to the entire court. However, Tarondor offered him one thing. Here was the opportunity to test the reaction this news would receive.

Aragorn watched his noble carefully, but Tarondor did not show even a glimmer of surprise. He bowed low once more and said, "This is a joyful day indeed. Welcome to Minas Tirith my lady. When is the happy event to take place?"

She looked at Aragorn and he said, "As soon as the preparations can be made." Tarondor's eyebrows rose slightly at this, and Aragorn knew it was a huge change from the king who, mere weeks before, had been unwilling to consider marriage at all. "I assure you, I will explain our story later. Will you inform the Council that I wish them and their families to join me for lunch this afternoon?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

"Thank you. Now if you will excuse us, we have not yet broken our fast." Tarondor bowed and they continued past the fountain and into the palace.

In the corridor, servants were busy extinguishing the sconces. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows and reflected off the threads of gold and mithril woven into the tapestries. _Has this city always been so beautiful, or is it my own joy that makes it so?_

Elladan broke into his thoughts. "How much do you intend to tell your people, Estel?"

Aragorn knew what he meant: would he tell the truth regarding Olwen and Arwen? He sighed; it was a question that had been growing in the back of his mind since Arwen's appearance, and he still did not have the perfect answer. "What do you think, Arwen?"

She plucked at a loose thread on her gown in a gesture he knew so well from Olwen, and he marveled that he had not recognized her all those months ago. "We cannot keep the truth from them," she said after a moment's thought. "It may be too much to be believed, but if Olwen were to disappear… how else can we explain that but by the truth?"

Aragorn nodded. "That was my thought as well. I would like to introduce you to the Council this afternoon and tell them the whole story. From there, it will get passed around the City, though it is likely most will not believe it."

Elrohir laughed. "You are likely to become a legend in your own time, Arwen—Olwen, the lost maiden of Minas Tirith."

They reached the small dining room where Arwen had often met with Legolas, and Elladan reached for the handle. "There is still one who we know will accept the truth, and I agree with my brother—I cannot wait to see the look on his face when he sees you." He opened the door and peered into the room. "Perfect, he is not here yet. He must still be out looking for Aragorn."

"Why would he be looking for Aragorn?" Aragorn shifted under her gaze and her brothers just laughed. "Estel? Is there something you wish to tell me?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Can we not sit down?"

"Of course. And then you may answer my question."

Aragorn took his time reaching his own chair. First he helped Arwen to hers, then he made sure the door was closed. A few of the servants they had passed on the way here had given them very curious looks, and he did not want any part of this conversation being passed around the palace.

He heard Arwen drumming her fingers on the tabletop and he knew her patience wore thin. He sat down and crossed his arms. "Legolas and I… quarreled last night."

She raised an eyebrow. "I do recall that you dragged him away rather precipitously."

He picked up his fork and twirled it around. "Our conversation was not entirely comfortable. I might have… well, consider the position I found you in."

She laughed. "Estel! You do not mean to tell me that you accused Legolas of…"

It seemed ridiculous now, and he shifted in his chair. "I do not believe I made any actual accusations, but my intent was clear."

She placed her chin on her hands. "And what did he say?"

Aragorn felt his face turn red. "Beyond telling me that I should know him better than to believe the ridiculous rumors floating around the palace?" She nodded. "He told me that if the thought of you with another man bothered me that much, then perhaps I ought to admit to myself what everyone else could see months ago."

He shook his head; it was hard to believe how much had changed in the last twenty-four hours. "I must thank him, for if he had not delivered those pointed words, I would not have been outside where I could catch you."

The image of her lying on the stones passed before him again, and he shuddered. Arwen laced her fingers with his and he looked into her calm grey eyes. "Do not fret, meleth nin. You found me, and I am yours."

Before he could respond to those words, the door opened. Arwen quickly turned away so her face would not be visible right away. Legolas looked around the room and let out a short laugh. "Elladan, Elrohir, good morning Aragorn. I see you have brought Olwen with you, does this mean…"

Arwen chose this moment to reveal herself to her friend. He stared at her for a long moment and then came forward to bow low over her hand. "Lady Arwen, I take it we have unwittingly been in your company for all these months."

"Aye, Legolas, I was Olwen. It is good to be myself again, however."

"I am sure it is. It is good to see you again, mellon nin, though I do not quite understand how…"

Arwen told the story once more while they ate, and as Aragorn watched Legolas' reaction to the tale, he knew that his decision to share the truth with the Council was the right one. Olwen had touched many lives, from those she had tended in the Houses of Healing to the peasants whose lives she had enriched by the gifts she had given them. The connection between Olwen and Arwen must be made obvious, or those same people would resent Arwen for replacing their beloved Olwen.

Nevertheless, he was not without trepidation when he and Arwen stood together at the door to the dining hall that afternoon. To explain the truth about Arwen, he must reveal his own hidden grief to them, something he was not wholly comfortable with.

Arwen smiled up at him. "Are you ready to present me to your Council, Estel?"

There was no trace of fear or doubt in her expression, and her confidence inspired his own. He nodded at the servants to open the doors. "His Royal Highness Elessar and the Lady Arwen!" the seneschal bellowed.

The entire room rose to its feet. Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgement and led Arwen toward the head table, where Faramir and Éowyn awaited them. They were halfway across the room when the whispers began. "Who is that?" I have never seen her before." "Is she an Elf?" Aragorn knew this was but a taste of what was to come, and fixed a smile on his face

When they reached the front of the room, he motioned for the people to be seated. "My lords and ladies, I present to you Arwen, daughter of Elrond, to whom I have been betrothed for many years." He waited for the whispers to die down before he continued. "She was grievously injured by Orcs three years ago after the fall of Barad-dûr, and her father made the difficult choice to send her to Valinor. Several months ago, she was returned to Middle-earth in the disguise of a woman of Gondor."

He saw glimmers of understanding on the faces of some, though many were still puzzled. Faramir sucked in a quick breath, and he knew that with his greater knowledge of all the circumstances, his steward had easily picked up the truth.

"As some of you are beginning to understand, that Gondorian maiden was the Lady Olwen, who stands before you now in her true form as Arwen Undomiel." The chatter started anew, and he was forced to pause for a long moment. When he finally held the attention of the room once more he said, "I now give you your future queen, the Lady Arwen."

The assembly rose to its feet and clapped enthusiastically. He could tell many did not truly understand, but all rejoiced with the announcement of his betrothal. Arwen curtsied prettily and then they took their seats.

As soon as they were seated, their companions began to question Arwen about her sudden reappearance. Aragorn enjoyed both the novelty of not being the focus of everyone's attention and the chance to watch Arwen work her magic on his people. Within minutes she had won them all over, save one.

To his surprise, it was Éowyn who was more reticent to welcome his bride. She remained quiet throughout the whole meal and only turned to Arwen when the footmen appeared to clear the plates. "Lady Arwen, I had though to ask Olwen if she wished to ride with me this afternoon. I do not know if…"

Arwen placed a hand on the other woman's arm, and Aragorn took it as a good sign that she did not pull back. "Please, Éowyn —call me Arwen. We are friends, or we were when I was but an unknown lady. That should not end now simply because I am known as myself. I will see you in the stables at three o'clock."

The White Lady relaxed and Aragorn realized she had been unsure if Arwen would accept her as a equal as Olwen had done. "I will be there, Arwen," she promised.

Faramir cleared his throat and stood. "My lord, will I see you in your study this afternoon? I wanted to discuss the progress that has been made in the flood aid for Anórien."

"I will be with you shortly." Faramir nodded and he and Éowyn took their leave of the royal couple.

Aragorn sighed and turned to Arwen. "Much as I would love to spend the afternoon with you, I fear the country will not run itself."

Arwen laughed. "Do not concern yourself, Estel. I too have work to do—someone has decreed that a royal wedding should take place 'as soon as possible'."

"Is that acceptable? If not…"

"You worry too much, my love. I have no more desire to wait than you do." She looked down, and for a moment Aragorn wondered if he truly had placed too much pressure on her by stating his desire to marry soon. "I had thought… could we be married on April 25?"

He was glad she had not looked back up, for she missed his instinctive recoil. For him, that day would be forever tied to her attack at Imladris, even though the latter had happened at least a week later.

She reached out and took his hand, though she still did not look up. _It is important to her; why?_ He carefully hid his antipathy and squeezed her hand. She looked up and he nodded. "The start of a new year."

"And in celebration of the moment that made our union possible."

He was struck dumb by her ability to throw a positive light on events that had haunted him for years. He cleared his throat and said, "I will leave the arrangements to you, Arwen." Then he kissed her hand and left the room.

He nodded absently to the nobles he passed in the corridor, but his mind was still on her words. _Can I celebrate something that caused so much sorrow? But she is right; we would not be here if that day had not come to pass._

He was halfway across the courtyard before his mind registered that something was different. He set aside his musings and looked around him; the Tower gleamed in the sunlight, soldiers hurried to the practice fields, the fountain bubbled in front of the palace, and the tree…

His heart caught in his throat. The Tree of the King stood before him as it did every day, but today, the single blossom was open. _Until you can let go of the past and accept your new future, the White Tree will not flower, nor will its one blossom open._ Finally Aragorn could remember those words without bitterness. Past had become future, and he was ready to accept both the pain and pleasure that truth brought him.

The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity. The entire city was abuzz with the news that King Elessar had chosen a bride. It had been many years since Minas Tirith had hosted such a grand event. Those who could recall the wedding of Denethor to FInduilas found their tales were suddenly in high demand.

The tale of Arwen and Olwen was even more talked of. As Elrohir had predicted, many did not believe the truth, and wild rumors regarding Olwen could be heard on every street corner. The lady's charm and her perfect memory of all she had done as Olwen soon convinced those who had known her however, and among these people the king was considered lucky to have captured her heart.

Their wedding day arrived at last. The guests were assembled in the Great Hall. Aragorn stood at the front with Legolas by his side, waiting for Arwen to enter the room. Outside the door he heard the clarion call that announced her arrival, and he stood up straight. A herald threw open the doors and she walked in, with a brother on each arm.

All the air left his lungs in a loud rush when he saw her. He had loved this woman since the moment he first saw her, and today she would become his wife. He was in a daze for the entire ceremony, his whole being focused on Arwen. He forgot to speak a few times, and she squeezed his hands gently, her eyes laughing at him.

At last it was done, and Aragorn stared down at his bride. He knew custom dictated he should walk her out of the hall decorously, but the joy welling up inside him could not be contained. Instead of offering her his arm, he placed his hands at her sides and picked her up off her feet. He spun her around a few times, delighting in her laughter.

When he set her down, the joy and laughter melted into tenderness. _Finally, she is my wife!_ He brushed the hair away from her face and when she leaned into his slight caress, he dipped in suddenly for a kiss. He felt first her surprise and then her enthusiastic response and he gave himself over to the pleasure he found only with her.

**AN: **This is the end. I did have an epilogue planned, but after some thought I realized it wasn't necessary. To use my beta's words, it was the difference between walking away from a meal satisfied and walking away thinking, "I really shouldn't have eaten that last bite."

Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story, whether or not you've reviewed. Double thanks to those who have reviewed—your words of encouragement have helped more than you realize.


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